


A bit snug

by fenrislorsrai



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Antichrist Adam Young (Good Omens), Aziraphale's True Form (Good Omens), Cars, Cohabitation, Consensual Possession, Crowley's True Form (Good Omens), Demon Deals, Gen, Getting Together, LITERALLY, M/M, Magical Theory, Other, Sharing a Body, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), in the sense they're sharing a body, ley lines, metaphysical weirdness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2020-05-13 21:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 69,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19259320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenrislorsrai/pseuds/fenrislorsrai
Summary: “I do need a body. Pity I can’t inhabit yours. Angel, demon...probably explode…”---And there was only onebedbody.They can't be made to fight if they're both in the same body.  It's the surest way to cancel each other out and make sure they won't have to face each other at Armageddon if they can't stop the end.They may not explode, but there's definitely other consequences.  Not least of which is getting to know the parts of each other they hid from each other or were too afraid to admit to.  What can they learn from each other's experiences?What ARE bodies? After all this time, they're finding their ideas of such were perhaps too limited by what they'd been told. What is Self and what part of it is defined by other's perception of you? and what if that Other is now with you?  Can you still deny you are worthy of love when you must direct some of it back at yourself to love another who’s currently part of you.Which is all very serious but also they bicker a lot, flirt with someone in same body (awkward), have Opinions about how to take their tea, make a demonic pact, and confuse Gabriel with math.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I am totally open to you doing a podfic of this or translating. Have at and drop me a comment with link.

“I do need a body. Pity I can’t inhabit yours.” 

Crowley made an oooh noise at that and a rather serious face as he realized he needed to sober up right the hell now. 

“Angel, demon...probably explode…” 

“Do it.” 

“Excuse me, I just said we’d probably explode!” 

Crowley made a terrible face as he finished up purging alcohol from his system “Sober now. Heard the explode part. I did. Still willing to try.” 

“That is a terrible idea!” 

“But if it works, we can’t be made to fight. Really do cancel each other out then. And neither of us can get left behind…” 

“It is potentially suicide!” 

“I thought you were really dead. Dead dead. I can’t deal with that again. I can’t.” Crowley sounded utterly wrecked and the look on his face was pleading. 

“Crowley…. 

“Let me do this for you.” He took a steadying breath. “Let me do it for us. For me.” 

“For you.” Aziraphale reached out and tried to figure out exactly how to DO this before he lost his nerve. Crowley put out both hands to try and grasp at a body that wasn’t really there, with little effect. Aziraphale tried much the same and just put hands through Crowley. 

“I don’t think this is working…” 

“It’ll work! Just… arrrgh...” 

Bar patrons really didn’t pay much mind to Crowley slumping over on the table like he’d passed out. He’d already been talking to himself. What followed though, that was enough to make people swear off drinking for a good long while. 

The demon stepped almost, but not entirely, out of his body and grabbed Aziraphale by wings and they were suddenly very visible to everyone in a tangle of wings and scales and unbearable brightness and deep shadow engaged in some sort of wrestling match that seemed to make the whole air tremble while disturbing nothing physical until they suddenly aligned to fall back into Crowley’s body. For a brief moment he had two sets of wings, one light and one dark, before they managed to give the final little twist to fold them back into nothingness. 

They pushed themself up from where they’d slumped onto the table.. Aziraphale ran hand over Crowley’s, no their, stomach. “Bit snugger than I’m used to.” 

“We fit. Like a closet full of junk that you shouldn’t open or it’ll all fall out.” 

“I never!” 

“You got a system for your socks, I know. Probably how you managed to fit.” 

And they did, with no room to spare. There was a tightness in their chest at that that there had been space before and now suddenly it was entirely filled up. Everything had just fit. Perfectly. 

“Oh, Angel…” 

“I feel it. All of it. But we really need to get to Tadfield or we aren’t going to enjoy this for very long. And I would like to enjoy it…” There was a certain bit of HEAT there. 

“Oh, might need a drink for the road with THAT knowledge.” 

“No, you’re driving.” 

“Drinks later then.” 

“Always” 


	2. But who's driving?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sharing a body seems like a great idea. Actual doing so... how do you drive this thing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really overly detailed driving where Aziraphale can't even get it in gear. In any sense.

Getting both of them into the same body had been simple enough but the actual SHARING was proving rather more complicated. They’d smashed together 6000 years of existing separate, and occasionally in close proximity, into one space. 

They knew and also didn’t know all at the same time. It was a passive sort of knowing of the existence of a memory, but as soon as they even acknowledged it, then it was suddenly THEIRS, a disorganized, unexamined mess of Theirs with a great many disconnected bits lacking context to make sense of it and as soon as they tried to reconnect it to context, merely contemplating it made for even more to try and sort… 

It made getting to the Bentley an adventure as Crowley knew how his body worked and Aziraphale knew how his HAD worked and had also shared entirely too many thoughts about how Crowley walked… Trying to put that all together made it look like Crowley hadn’t sobered up _at all_. 

By the time they got to the Bentley they had merged enough basic bodily knowledge together to at least agree on where Crowley’s limbs were, so he could walk sort of normally. Or as normal as Crowley ever walked. But then they opened the passenger side door and held it open for ... themself and sighed and got in. They clambered over onto the driver’s side and rested their head against the steering wheel for a moment trying to figure out how this was going to work. 

Their disorientation cleared as sitting in the driver’s seat was so overwhelmingly Crowley’s memories alone that they could again make the distinction between each of their experiences. Crowley could feel perspective shifting from being a singular being to instead being together and entwined. A whole, but the component parts recognizable on closer examination. Aziraphale had only a single memory of sitting in the driver’s seat and Crowley rapidly found the memory to match it up with The two memories wrapped around and through each other, starting to form a new single memory. Weaving together the two sets of wildly differing details and perspective gave them some insight of how they had instinctively turned and twisted their ethereal selves around each other to occupy the same vessel 

* * *

Crowley had finally persuaded Aziraphale he really did need to update his skills and learn to drive. It had been _decades_. Cars weren’t going away. Aziraphale’s memory supplied that Crowley specifically saying he’d teach him to drive the _Bentley_ had been the final nudge that made him agree to move from theoretical need to learning to actually doing so. As anxiety inducing as the entire process was, Crowley wouldn’t let anything bad happen to the Bentley so certainly nothing bad could happen to Aziraphale. 

They’d gone out to a school parking lot late at night to be free of any other drivers. Crowley started out excited and enthusiastic about teaching the angel to drive, reviewing what all knobs, dials, and indicators were for. 

“Oh so it does have turn signals.” 

“Course it does. I just leave them on for a mile at a time without turning.” Which he did sometimes when he wanted a bit of minor mischief, but DID actually use them properly when Aziraphale was in the car. Thankfully Aziraphale hadn’t noticed. _He had_. 

Trying to describe the sequence to get the car in gear and how to feel whether it was or not went less well. Aziraphale wasn’t exactly uncoordinated so much as overthinking it and Crowley had to keep reaching over to guide Aziraphale’s hand when he kept failing to shift gears correctly. 

Aziraphale remembered that part in much greater detail. Crowley first reaching over and trying to guide his hand, but the angle making it so equally unfamiliar to Crowley that he’d had to THINK about it and his own hesitation had thrummed through his arm and made Aziraphale hesitate as well and they’d ground the gears. Aziraphale had made a suggestion that perhaps if they actually matched up their arms, that might work. Crowley had agreed and given him a slight pat on the hip. That made Aziraphale jump enough for Crowley to slide across the seat and right under him. 

Aziraphale has been too stunned to even protest. 

Crowley had rested his own hand on top of Aziraphale’s to guide his arm through the motion of going between the shift and the wheel and back. The feel of their arms moving together had been muted by fabric of shirts and coats between them, but Crowley’s hand on top of Aziraphale’ had no such buffer. It had been faintly cool and slightly calloused. Each time he’d returned Aziraphale hand to the shift he’d run his fingers over back of his hand, pushing between his fingers to adjust Aziraphale’s convulsive death grip to something both soft and firm at the same time, so he could feel the feedback from the mechanism while also having sufficient pressure on it to move it. 

Crowley’s own memory slid in smoothly, rather like tuning a radio, to turn Aziraphale’s hazy memory of a patient murmur with no identifiable words into the detailed directions Crowley had actually given. The next part Aziraphale had lost even the semblance of there being words, so they could both feel the effort of sliding Crowley’s memory around Aziraphale’s own so it shone through from behind, like layering glass to create a deeper picture. 

Crowley had adjusted where Aziraphale had his feet, nudging them a bit into position with his own. He’d guided his hands through the shift positions as he’d pressed pedals, so Aziraphale could feel it drop into each position, giving instructions the whole time. Crowley had been trying to demonstrate right speed and pressure to depress pedals and all Aziraphale could focus on was Crowley’s thigh muscle flexing beneath him, his knee brushing against his own, the bunching of the calf muscle, the slight catch of his shoe against his own. Crowley’s hand holding his own might be cool but the rest of him seemed all too warm pressed against his back. All while Crowley had his head resting on his shoulder. 

Crowley’s soft “There. See how that feels” as Aziraphale finally got the motion right was seared into his memory along with a desire to have said something, anything other than a strangled “Yes, got it. Think I can do it myself now.” _Lies._

Crowley took it as a cue to slide out from under him, hand trailing across his shoulder as he’d extricated himself. Only now that he was no longer trying to help, and he genuinely had been, had it occurred to Crowley he’d just had Aziraphale IN HIS LAP and memory snapped together with them both having shared the same anxious, incoherent buzz of having gone sailing past some boundary without hitting brakes they damn well should have. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

The sudden roaring tension had left them snappish and eager to part before they said something they regretted. Aziraphale had rapidly stalled car out again and Crowley had dramatically thrown up hands “Well I guess I’ll just be driving you around forever then!” Aziraphale’d agreed Crowley driving was much better idea. Yes, please drop me off at shop. _Now_. 

The rest of the memory just trailed off into a disjointed jittering blur of wild anxiety where their silence had just fed overwhelming fear they were going to have a terrible row and split up. 

* * *

“I really was trying to not go too fast for you. I did listen. I just wanted to…” Help. He’d wanted to help and was so terribly embarrassed by that he’d just said nothing instead. And there was such terrible fondness at that. It was one of Aziraphale’s favorite things about him. 

Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s willingness to give him so many more memories related to that but the moment of separation of no longer being **We** had given them enough control they didn’t HAVE to immediately merge the memories anymore. They could take the time to assemble them properly together as they'd just done. It no longer had to be taken as a burden, it was now a gift to be given. 

Crowley took a steadying breath and ran his hands over the familiar steering wheel, grounding himself in the physical, in the present. “Talking makes this easier, I think. It does.” Crowley purposely didn’t reach for knowledge of agreement or disagreement from Aziraphale and waited for Aziraphale to offer it to him instead. 

Aziraphale thoughts still bled through fairly clearly that it did and it might be better if… 

“Use words.” It was both the thought given to him and his own returned thought to actually DO it. 

“Words. Yes. Words.” Aziraphale’s voice still sounded like him despite coming through Crowley’s body’s throat, though that might just be their perception of it. They’d find out together if they actually sounded different to anyone else eventually. 

“Okay, I think we, I, can drive now.” 

“Just as it should be.” And there was a brief grin on their face as they felt they were both back in their proper place and in a new closer one all at once. This was going to work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> do not teach someone to drive this way.


	3. Questions, questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just asking questions can really get you in trouble. even if they're inside someone else's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much appreciate Ned Dennehy's commitment to having Hastur scream Like That. 
> 
> what are consistent chapter lengths?
> 
> minor bad language here

Traffic was a hellish mess but it hadn’t ground to a standstill just yet. There had been options to try and detour around total gridlock and at one such point, Crowley had attempted to do a K turn and frozen as he had tried to use the rear view mirror. 

There was an overwhelming moment of disorientation as he saw Aziraphale in the mirror. He’d frozen midmotion and Aziraphale quickly offered him his own perception of Crowley himself sitting there and they both looked at their body’s hands to try and realign their perception. Yes, those were definitely Crowley’s corporation’s fingers and clothing definitely looked like what Crowley had been wearing before they’d merged. They looked back up at the mirror and there was that strange overlap where they both very clearly saw each other. They touched their face and they both saw each other make the movement and felt the touch, but there was just a slight misalignment in the image vs the sensation. Honking and cursing from the car behind them broke up the moment. 

“Right, driving. I need. To drive.” Crowley finished the turn and went a little ways before he ended up merging back into traffic creeping along in first gear. 

Crowley drove a lot more cautiously than usual while trying to get them to Tadfield. He’d normally go quite a lot faster but was mostly just relying on actual skill with driving for the moment and testing out very, very minor miracles on traffic to make sure he had a firm grasp on how powers worked with Aziraphale so close. Mostly he was finding it took a bit less effort and more restraint to not overdo it. And he genuinely wasn’t sure which of them was the one overdoing it. 

Since he was doing this mostly mundanely, Aziraphale would occasionally offer up a small bit of detail on a neighborhood he’d visited more recently than Crowley had. Aziraphale kept the memories relatively spare so they’d slot neatly into Crowley’s mental map of the area without causing any disorientation. Not that information on the location of that fabulous cheesemonger was entirely relevant right now, but a few times it let him know where what looked like a mere emergency pull off actually connected back into parallel local streets and he’d managed to roar along for a mile in residential area before running back into the major jam. 

Other than those offerings, Aziraphale largely rode along quietly, trying to come up with some sort of plan that would counter the Great Plan. At least he didn’t have to guess at all as to what Crowley would do in various scenarios as he merely had to present them to have an answer as to what he’d do. Or answers, which was a bit less helpful. Crowley’s first answer was often rapidly followed by two or three more as he’d put a little more thought into them and then would drop a similar number of questions on Aziraphale. Often he’d just repeat the question back, subtly reworded to make it clearer how to pursue an answer. 

Crowley might be driving, but this back and forth was leaving Aziraphale to do the bulk of the actual navigation. Having to try and pick apart the Great Plan with all these questions was really more Crowley’s thing but he couldn’t just do _nothing_ and every time he asked one he could feel the slight little backwash of encouragement from Crowley. 

They seemed to be making some vague progress with each successive “what if we…?” got presented, but there came a point Crowley could feel Aziraphale was holding back on one. Aziraphale kept circling around it as he couldn’t NOT consider it and the not thinking about it was becoming an obstacle to coming up with any other solution. 

Traffic ground to a total halt again and they were left staring at the wall of fire ahead. Crowley growled briefly and gave himself a mental kick over having done a far better job on the M25 than he’d ever dreamed of. They were not going anywhere ‘til they figured something out about at least one of these problems. 

Crowley put the Bentley in park and shut off the engine in the stalled traffic. Time to solve at least one problem. “You can’t hide things from me _in_ me. Just ask.” he growled. 

“Could we kill the Antichrist?” Aziraphale’s certainty that this was the only remaining solution came along with the question. 

“I could kill him.” but a second unverbalized answer nearly drowned out the spoken one: “I can’t kill kids”. He’d forced the lie out of his mouth, but hadn’t been able to hide it that it was a lie nor that he thought he HAD to lie. And in the effort of trying to make that lie work meant some of his hold slipped and memories spilled out, unoffered, but still taken. 

Crowley had asked Aziraphale much the same question a few days before, when they had thought Warlock was the Antichrist. What if you killed him? What was one life against the universe? Such a carefully phrased set of questions. And he had asked it specifically so Aziraphale would reject it as an option because Crowley had suggested it. Easier to reject a clearly seen temptation from an outside source than the whisper of doubt within. And Aziraphale had mostly rejected it and they’d focused on the hellhound instead. 

But now that it wasn’t Warlock, suddenly it was the whisper within that couldn’t be ignored. Aziraphale couldn’t kill the boy they’d helped raise, but some other child he’d never met… What if he killed him? Better yet, what if he got Heaven to do it? They’d killed so many times before... Surely the world was worth one life? 

Crowley could feel Aziraphale flinch away from him as they absorbed that info from each other. But Aziraphale had nowhere to actually withdraw _to_ and everything suddenly felt very tight and each was excruciatingly aware that they were separate beings crammed into a vessel only meant for one. Aziraphale started to spill out of body, wings not quite manifested, but starting to unfurl to reverse the joining process. 

Words broke down as Aziraphale lost his grip on the body and it was just a jumble of half formed thoughts and feelings. Most of it swirling around whether killing the Antichrist was what he had to do, combined with how as soon as he’d known the Antichrist’s location he’d started trying to get someone else to kill him. _Tempting_ someone else to do it. And Crowley had tempted him to do it specifically so he _wouldn’t_ . But he had been focused on getting someone to _do_ it! And now that he was actually sharing a body with someone who was firm in their no, either he would have to find another body or force Crowley to do something he definitely didn’t want. And he couldn’t ask Crowley to do this. He had felt sharing a body with Crowley was too much to ask, but Crowley had asked him to do it _for_ him, for Crowley, and that had been the deciding factor, but now this, this was too much… but there was no other answer of what to do now. He couldn’t see any other answer and Crowley was so firm in his No, that killing must be the answer, they were on opposite sides! 

Now both sets of wings did come out, terribly close and tight and smothering. Feathers scrapped and dragged in the wrong direction in the confines of the car. Worse, pulling part of their ethereal form out of the insulating flesh of the body meant they could feel the raw power of the nearby sigil beating on their wings, not quite burning, but the heat and force of it brought up Crowley’s too fresh memories of earlier in the day. 

It was all Crowley could do to keep that pain from drowning them both and he was clawing at that memory of the burning bookshop to keep it from spilling out. Crowley was losing Aziraphale all over again as every answer was suddenly a wrong answer. Every question just as wrong. All he wanted was to hang on to Aziraphale but was instead spilling his desperation and pain over someone already floundering. In trying to claw back that memory of the burning shop he uncovered his oldest, deepest hurt and it flared in a way that was an echo of Aziraphale’s current turmoil. Sharp and burning and cleansing in its intensity, echoing current pain but giving it shape and substance and most importantly the memory that he had _survived_ it. 

Crowley reached around and held his own most painful, awful memory close, the burning heat of it held back so the shape of that pain could be felt as a warning rather than detailed agony and stroked it along Aziraphale’s ethereal form in the same way they’d folded together. Just a slight loss of focus and that pain would sink in and Aziraphale trembled at that terrible, detailed knowledge being passed over him and then carefully withdrawn. But the terror of it brought a brief moment of hyperfocus. 

Crowley carefully picked his words. “I’m not rejecting you. Not for asking a question. Never for that. But it needed asking. But now I need your answer. What do _we_ do?” Aziraphale’s thoughts and feelings were a convoluted mess as he scrambled around such a deceptively simple question that had too many new questions folded up inside it, foremost that there was some “we” other than the one he’d been aligned with for so long. Crowley could tell it was too much and so offered him both a new question and an answer. 

“Do we kill Adam?” Just a slight change to how the question was asked and Crowley’s answer was clear and firm to take if he wished. Aziraphale grabbed it and devoured it and made it his own. 

“No, **WE** do not.” They curled back together into one again and the WE rang through them and around them. A horde of car alarms and a few airbags went off in the surrounding vehicles. 

“Uh. Didn’t know you could do the voice” Their voices overlapped sounding like both and neither wrapped in one. Singularly and separately baffled. “Couldn’t. Can’t. Just that one word maybe? We? Oh thank...” their voices split apart as they tried to figure out who to thank. 

“I cannot deal with anymore fucking surprises today.” Crowley sounded terribly tired. 

“Well we have a book of accurate prophecy, so we can cut down on some of the surprises.” Aziraphale somehow sounded vaguely chipper after all that. _Bastard_. Aziraphale’s chuckle at Crowley’s frustration lifted a bit of Crowley’s weariness. 

“Yeah, so Agnes got anything to say about that?” He made a vague gesture at the wall of fire. Aziraphale gave him a sort of nudge and took over his body so he could pick up the book of prophecy to consult what might be a relevant section. 

Crowley did the mental equivalent of laying on the couch in the bookshop. Or possibly laying on the floor next to the couch. Just the sheer magnitude of what he’d asked and answered was finally hitting him and he was trying not to panic. It was a bit distracting so Aziraphale switched over to reading aloud which seemed to settle Crowley down enough that he could feel the point when Crowley switched over to actually THINKING and drew back in on himself. 

So it was rather a surprise when someone, something, took the glasses off his face and there was a crunch of them breaking “You’ll never escape London. Nothing can.” 

He turned to look at the sudden new occupant of the passenger seat. “Hastur” The voice sounded like Aziraphale. The name roused Crowley from his own thoughts with an overwhelming feeling of OH FOR FUCKS SAKE and a vague scramble that he needed to take over fronting, but Aziraphale took a breath and continued while trying to sound like Crowley. “How was your time in voicemail?” 

“Funny ha-ha joke all you like Crowley, there’s nowhere to run.” from Hastur. Either Aziraphale’s voice sounded the same coming out of Crowley’s body or Hastur just genuinely hadn’t noticed. 

“Hell will not forget. Hell will not forgive. You know where the real Antichrist is, don’t you? You’ll never reach him. You’re done Crowley.” Hastur finally looked over at them and then visibly flinched and slid as far away as he could while still being on seat. Aziraphale tilted his head a little and gave a disapproving little hmm which apparently made Hastur even less comfortable as he put a hand on the door handle. 

“Crowley…” It wasn’t quite a question but there was some acknowledgement there that something wasn’t quite right. 

“Yesss.” Aziraphale purposely drew out sound and did his best impression of one of Crowley’s grins. “Aren’t you to be lining up ready for battle around now?” 

Hastur looked away at that point rather than continue looking at whatever the hell he was seeing. Aziraphale did a slight little internal shift while his eyes were off him to let Crowley take over. He’d picked up enough information in the earlier uncontrolled merging of memories to have some idea what was going on, but not enough to really fake being Crowley for long. Back in the driver's seat, Crowley took the opportunity to restart the Bentley’s engine. 

“What are you doing?” Hastur looked back up before he’d been able to come up with a new dramatic threat and took one look at actual-Crowley’s expression of being Totally Done With Today and opened the door and bailed out of the car with a shriek and sank through the ground as soon as he hit it. Hell was clearly safer than the inside of the car. 

“The fuck.” A sniff. “But good riddance.” 

“Is he always like that?” 

“Eeeeh. A bit. It’s been a stressful day for everyone. And I did kind of kill Ligur in front of him earlier.” 

“Did you actually have a plan for the wall of fire?” 

“Agnes have anything?” 

“Not that I could find in five minutes of reading. We are running out of time.” 

“So I have been thinking… The fire isn’t the real problem” Aziraphale felt it was very much a problem. “For demons at least. The crossing it is the tricky part since it's a dread sigil and all, fueled by people driving round it screaming for the last few decades. Kinda rerouted a ley line. Made a very firm path.” 

“Nice job.” 

“I got a little carried away, alright.” Crowley was still kicking himself at getting caught in his own scheme, but also there was that bit of pride it had worked so well. No one else had sufficient imagination to have even tried such a project, let alone have it work. But since he had worked so long and hard on it, he also had a great deal of certainty as to _how_ it worked. “So the point is, the sigil is designed to be drawn by cars. So we don’t _cross_ it. We just go along like normal, like we’re drawing part of the sigil and pop out on the other side where the stroke trails off.” 

“Just drive around in the fire.” Aziraphale had definite _concerns_ about this and Crowley’s anxiety returned at that reminder, suddenly having similar reservations about this idea. 

“Would it kill me?” That sent anxiety even higher, but Aziraphale seemed sure Crowley wouldn’t have suggested it at all if it would. Which calmed Crowley enough to confirm that was true. 

“I’m sure it won’t kill you since you’re in me and I’m fireproof. I think I can hold the Bentley together. But it's probably going to be uncomfortable. Maybe painful.” 

“How painful?” 

“I’m not sure. I think it's more uncomfortable than painful, but riding on that edge.” 

“If you’re going to feel me hurt, maybe burn, even if it’s temporary, are you going to be able to deal with that?” 

“Ye...no.. I don’t know. “ Crowley was a mess of conflicting emotions and thoughts. Fear, loss, determination, a more formless anxiety, a desire to protect, a need to appear strong, to not disappoint Aziraphale, doubt, all roiling together. 

Crowley took a steadying breath and looked into the rear view mirror so he could see Aziraphale. Like feeling him around and in him wasn’t quite enough. He needed another sense to reassure him 

“I couldn’t protect you before. I thought I lost you” Crowley’s emotions swirled and the fear and anxiety spiked again. He focused on seeing Aziraphale in the mirror. “But I’m here. With you. I’m not going anywhere without you.” Obviously he wasn’t since they were sharing a body, but the sincerity there that it would be true now anyway calmed some of his anxiety. “I just don’t know if I can deal with feeling you hurt right now.” 

“You can’t protect me from all pain, not entirely.” Crowley’s anxiety level started to go back up. “But I can take it. You’re already doing so much.” Aziraphale did something, some strange little shift in form and there was the feel of a wing flicking round to shelter Crowley to make him aware of their closeness. He could see the flicker of it in the mirror, only half there. “Let me protect you too.” 

“How?” 

“Just being here. That’s your fear. That I’m gone. But I’m not. Let me remind you of that.” Another little shift and Crowley could feel some slight bit of pressure against his body. In the mirror he could see Aziraphale out of alignment with the position of the corporation they shared, but it didn’t feel like he was out of it. He was still very present and within it, just folded in a way not following any kind of terrestrial body plan, so his hand rested over Crowley’s heart without having moved the corporation's arm at all. 

Crowley closed his eyes and brought the corporation's hand up to rest on their chest, overlaying Aziraphale’s hand. There was the feel of his jacket and shirt clearly beneath his hand and also the warmth of another’s hand, both beneath his hand and touching his chest and also somehow sunk through it and into the flesh at the same time. No feeling of solidness of flesh, just that pure sensation of warmth and comfort. 

“How are you doing that?” 

Aziraphale curled fingers around Crowley’s hand and pressed something into it. Crowley focused on closing his hand without moving the corporation's fingers and took the offered information. It was the same sort of maneuver Crowley had used earlier to start the initial process of merging, where he’d seized Aziraphale’s wings to fold them in, just refined. Aziraphale demonstrated by wrapping wings fully around Crowley for a moment, so he was very aware of them being closed around him, brushing against back just below his own wings, the tips tracing over the tops of his feet. And now that he was ignoring signals from their corporation, it had a definite sense of weight behind it. 

Crowley carefully extended his own wings without fully manifesting them but kept his high so as to not tangle their wings together, just brushing edges against the top of Aziraphale’s. He could feel the power from the sigil against them again and he shuddered a little at it. 

“Hold me tight when you need to know I’m there.” 

Crowley twiched a little at that with how much he longed to do just that and had for so long but also a reluctance there, to not quite go all the way. 

Aziraphale laughed but it felt fond with just a tiny hint of wickedness. “My dear, everything else pales besides sharing a body with you. Nothing could be too much at this point.” 

A brief instant of dithering and an answering bit of reassurance and Crowley pulled wings back in and then shifted how he was wrapped around Aziraphale. Now the angel got a clear sensation of a serpent coiled round him and a tentative squeeze across the breadth of him. There was still the echo of Crowley’s more human form, but the serpent part now had a real feeling of cool weight and substance to it. 

“You held that back the whole time?” 

”’Yes. I was….” Afraid Aziraphale would be disgusted by this form, recoil from it. Possibly even leave. 

“Never” Aziraphale shifted a hand so he could run it along a coil across him. “I like all your various forms. Some of them I just like in different ways than others.” 

“What’s that supposed to…” Aziraphale shared. Crowley didn’t think he could blush as a giant occult snake, but he certainly felt redder somehow. 

“I do think we need to get on with saving the world if we want to follow up on that.” 

“I do. I very much do. Wow.” Crowley tried to get himself focused on the actual task at hand and realized in trying to restructure his thoughts, much of his fear and anxiety had been thoroughly buried under that information. “You… you magnificent bastard, you. '' Aziraphale gave a little wiggle at that, which was absolutely _unfair_ given circumstances. 

“Let’s do this before I get lost in my head again.” And with that he threw the Bentley in gear and floored it. He quickly shifted up a few more gears and roared along the breakdown lane. He could feel Aziraphale shift slightly to brace himself for what was about to come. 

Ley lines were in some ways leftover signs of the creation, God’s fingerprints left behind in divine clay. But still moving, changing, and flowing, some of that power still moving along it, growing and changing. Humans often built along them to tap into them and great animal migrations also traveled along them. But they weren’t totally static things and so could change course over time. Angels and demons drew from the same source of power and such lines just made it easier to do so. Doing so in the same places over and over created blessed or cursed locations, and Crowley had really done a job on this one. 

Crowley focusing on merging into the ley line he’d distorted with the great sigil. There was the wall of heat and battering force and then they slid along with the stream of it, part of the **Word** of it. The roar and hiss of fire transformed into ringing words of “Hail the great beast, destroyer of worlds” repeated in a cacophony of languages reminiscent of the brief moment earlier where they’d spoken in one merged voice. Crowley was yelling to keep from losing himself in the overwhelming message. Weaving his words over and through the larger words, to hold the Bentley together as part of strengthening the effect around them. The sigil had been designed to be drawn by cars, and it would damn well be drawn by HIS car. 

The power roared through them and around them, but as they were moving with it, it wasn’t destroying them. However, Aziraphale was losing himself in the deafening roar of it, the feel of it pouring through him in endless heat, hammering the words into him and it was making it impossible to pass the power through him and he could feel the heat and intensity building. He contorted inside Crowley and felt the serpent’s coils tighten, focusing him with the pressure of it. It felt as if the coils were sinking into his flesh as Crowley slid around him, the motion of it providing an outlet to pass that power out of himself and back to Crowley to direct. 

The feeling of _too much_ let up some now that it was directed, but he could feel Crowley was also becoming overwhelmed by the cacophony, lost in the words and he shifted slightly to give the demon a similar feeling of contact. He again pressed his hand against Crowley’s corporation’s chest from the inside and nudged the corporation to lay their hand over their heart so the ethereal palm was to corporeal one. He clasped his other hand over where the heart of Crowley’s serpent form was wrapped around his chest. He shifted his wings slightly to wrap around them, even though it made him more aware of the message again, he could muffle it for Crowley and let the force of it flow through him and then pass to Crowley through his hands, bleeding off some of the power in the transfer and thus softening it. But still, this was nearing limit of the amount of power that could be channeled and directed and much of it did just spill out of their ethereal forms, some of it simply burning back off into the line and some pooling in the spaces where their ethereal forms were in contact, trapped between them with nowhere to dissipate or be reabsorbed until they left the line. 

Crowley focused on finding the spot where the line swirled off the ring road and yanked the Bentley along to that side, sliding through the exit, power pushed ahead of them, extending the reach of the sigil further than it had been before. The Bentley’s exit provided a new longer trailing stroke where more of the road caught fire and trailed off into the asphalt, leaving it bubbling and smoking as they roared off to Tadfield. It still trailed power after them, but the words receded into the background and the heat and burning sensation faded from where their forms touched. They were pretty sure they’d at least make it to Tadfield for this final confrontation, though whether they’d be able to do anything about it remained to be seen. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sure there will be NO CONSEQUENCES for anything that happened in this chapter!


	4. Adam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is written. There shall be a world and it shall last for six thousand years and end in fire and flame.
> 
> No, not like THAT. That is not how this was supposed to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what ARE bodies even?

Crowley was mostly right in that demons’ bodies are fireproof and as this current situation demonstrated, what constituted a _body_ was rather flexible. Even humans had a rather interesting sense of that. Ask someone if their clothes were part of their body and they would likely say no… but also be nearly as furious at you touching their clothes on their body uninvited as they were with you touching bare skin. It was the body that was not their body. An outer layer of self that protected the inner workings and either told you about that interior self or helped conceal it, depending on the owner. Less sensitive, but still theirs. Same too would extend to non-clothing items like a cane or glasses. In some ways those were even more part of the body than simple clothes as they extended the body’s ability to function as the owner desired. Hastur had seriously erred in touching Crowley’s glasses. 

Take it a step further and far too many instances of road rage started with someone screaming “you hit me!” when they very much meant “you hit **ME**!” Crowley had had the Bentley a very, very long time. Not so long by immortal standards, but still, longer than any of the clothing he’d miracled onto himself as part of his body today. Demons’ bodies are fireproof and this very much was part of Crowley’s body and thus fireproof. Or at least fire resistant. Driving through a dread sigil was rather pushing it and fire clung to outside of Bentley (and didn’t DARE come inside) as they roared along to Tadfield still trailing power of the sigil in their wake. 

Only having that faint connection to sigil meant they could shed much of the power from that by pushing it through the Bentley to keep fire from doing much more than scorching paint. Still, Aziraphale’s discomfort at fire was building, the connection to sigil still beating at them even from a distance, making wings ache faintly. Crowley flicked his own half out, insubstantial, but enough to blunt the feel of the sigil. There was a brief moment of tightening as he felt the heat of fire around him, but Aziraphale shifted against him to make his presence obvious, relaxing slightly at having pressure from sigil removed. 

There was still a bit of charge between the two as some excess power transferred between them at contact of wings, but Aziraphale was no longer taking the brunt of trying to absorb and direct it. 

Being the contact point now, Crowley was perhaps a little over forceful in relocating obstacles out of the way, often with an additional blessing attached to try and bleed off some of the power. But they still weren’t entirely disconnected and could still feel power running through them and then leaking back to line only to go back through them. It wasn’t entirely pleasant and they had no idea what it actually looked like to anyone else. 

Hopefully they could avoid dealing with any humans along the way. 

But it was a vain hope. The Antichrist’s power wrapped him in a cloak of protection from ethereal and occult creatures. It swirled around his aura and pulled power into the center, to him, while forming its own force that pushed away that which might be searching for a source of such power. 

And so it was that they were lost in Tadfield and needed directions to find what surely _should_ be glaringly obvious to occult senses. Thank someone for English politeness as they could in fact get directions from a man walking his dog who looked at this vaguely man-shaped being in a flaming car like this was only slightly abnormal. He seemed more peeved that they’d kept the car in a slow creep, making him walk alongside while he gave directions. Which WAS rude, but weren’t sure that bringing it to a total stop wouldn’t suddenly complete the final stroke of sigil, with unpredictable results. A moment of conversation and they were on their way, protective aura be damned. 

The man at the army base was not English at all and having a flaming car roar up to the gate definitely was NOT normal. Crowley stopped the Bentley a bit from the gate, which was just finishing closing, to give them a little buffer before having to interact with the guard. Not that it worked. 

The guard hit the button to sound the alarm and jumped out of the booth. They could see the shock on his face along with a desire to rush to rescue. As they stepped out of the car, they could see his face shift dramatically, apparently now seeing… something. Not relief that Crowley was unharmed, but terror at whatever he _was_ seeing. 

“Be not afraid” Aziraphale’s voice somehow made it sound like both a request and a command at the same time. 

“Sir, NO, sir, get back in the car!” The guard scrambled back towards the booth, pointing the gun, but disciplined enough to not to have wildly shot at them… yet. 

“Does that ever work?” Crowley let Aziraphale focus on talking while he made sure connection to sigil was well and truly severed. He wanted to make sure they didn’t connect the final stroke to the edge of base as it might well feed more power to the Antichrist, which would make this all the harder to deal with. It was _his_ car, but right now he needed to separate himself from it, it wasn’t him, it was the tool they’d used… a tool he was very fond of… but right now he needed to make sure the connection was broken. He shifted against Aziraphale, switching from serpentine internal form to more human-like version to more closely match corporation and firmly connect them back to this plane. 

Neither was entirely sure what the guard was seeing, but the long shadow cast behind guard indicated they were probably glowing. No amount of politeness by Aziraphale was going to make that seem normal. Or whatever else was going on. Hopefully he hadn’t actually seen Crowley shift, but the sudden rise in the pitch of his voice indicated that was probably a vain hope. The gun had suddenly steadied in his hand as he made commitment to shooting whatever he was looking at and Aziraphale gave up on reasoning and snapped and sent him _somewhere_. With the amount of power thrown at it, possibly to another continent. 

There was a solid WHUMP noise from behind them that they felt as much as heard as Crowley had finally successfully disentangled them from the sigil and that now undirected power shot skyward as the Bentley truly _burned_. 

Crowley started to turn to look at it, but Aziraphale took firm hold of their body and halted the movement. “You’ve seen too many things burn today. Don’t.” 

“Ninety years and not a scratch and now…” There was that echo of earlier loss, starting to well up. What tied them here was burning, had burned. The whole world was destined to burn. 

“I know.” Aziraphale didn’t make any sort of structured shift inside their body to adjust position, just a slight movement to make Crowley aware of his continued presence. It was enough to get him to stop fighting to turn to look. He couldn’t bring himself to leave yet, but he was no longer turning towards something that would surely hurt him. 

The sound of approaching vehicles got them in motion, through the newly unoccupied gate house and onto the base at last. Crossing over that threshold made by the fence, they became aware suddenly of having made the transition between spaces. Beyond this point everything simply felt _different_ , this was a place of significance, awash in power but undirected and undecided, filled with a trembling, stretched out restless uncertainty. The tiny sprinkles of rain before a deluge poured from a sunny sky. The sprint across cracking ice, unsure if the next step would plunge you beneath the water. A foot put down wrong that could either result in a stumble to right yourself or a broken ankle. The moment where one came nose to nose with a beast that could kill you but it had not yet decided whether to fight or flee. Something was happening, but it was undecided if it was the beginning or end of something. 

They’d briefly frozen as they’d tried to take it all in, and felt a very brief echo of _something_ experiencing the same moment of gazing back at them and then it had turned away, attention drawn to something more urgent. 

Which encouraged them to do a similar trick to the approaching army people. A quick miracle twisted attention away from them and towards the burning vehicle as being the most urgent thing to address as it would take them further away from whatever would happen here. An extra little nudge would keep them beyond the gate and faced towards an outward threat, not what was going on inside. Stay away from this mess. ‘This mess’, unfortunately, being their problem to deal with. 

Crowley hopped into the driver's seat on a Jeep parked by the gatehouse and then stared at it for a moment. “Why is everything in this bloody backwards? Americans.” 

It should have been easy to find the Antichrist on the airbase. It wasn’t that big. And yet the automatic confusion seemed to be in full force as they were looking. A bit of fruitless driving around with no luck and they went to focusing on more mundane clues as to where he was. There was an alarming moment when they found a bunch of soldiers on the ground… who thankfully were asleep and not dead. They came around a corner and there were four things that sort of were vaguely human shaped, four children, and so small they almost missed it, one hellhound. 

“Shit. He’s met up with the Horseman. We’re too late. Armageddon is starting.” Crowley took foot off gas and almost threw the Jeep into reverse as if fleeing now would somehow work. As they looked across tarmac, one of the kids stabbed War with a flaming sword and then in short order it was picked up and passed between two others and two more horsemen were gone. “Didn’t that used to be your sword?” 

“It might well be. What is even happening?” 

“Shit, we can’t hear anything being said from here.” 

The first thing they caught was Death’s parting words, because there was no way not to hear them. “IT HAS STOPPED. BUT THEY WILL BE BACK. WE ARE NEVER FAR AWAY. I AM CREATION’S SHADOW. YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME. THAT WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD.” 

They could see kids looking at each other before turning their attention to Crowley as he parked the Jeep by where they’d dropped their bicycles and then started to walk over towards them. They didn’t look particularly concerned, but they _had_ just dispatched three other supernatural entities. 

“When he said they will be back, I thought we’d get more than a couple minutes.” came from the child with glasses. 

Crowley put up hands, posture open and loose to indicate all they had was a book. “Be not…” Aziraphale tried again. 

“Oh shut it” from Crowley who took over talking. “Looks like you got together and saved the world. Well done. But it probably won’t make any difference. Heaven and Hell still want their war.” 

“Took care of her.” There was an edge to the girl’s tone that indicated that they could be taken care of as well. 

“Bang up job. But that’s just delayed things a bit.” 

“Is that some kind of threat?” Girl sounded like it better not be. 

“No, just warning it’s not over yet.” 

“Wish it was” from Aziraphale. The second voice from the same person got them a sharp look from one of the boys. 

“You shouldn’t be in other people. You should go back…” The words gave shape to the power and they could feel themselves being pulled apart. In time between word being thought and completing its shape, Crowley reverted to serpent form and wrapped around Aziraphale who pulled him to his breast and flipped wings around them as if that would somehow shield them from Antichrist’s power. 

“NO. PLEASE.” Voice resonated together as one and the pull let up slightly, but they were not released. Crowley had the corporation's empty hand over heart with fingers digging into their chest like he could reach into his body and hold onto Aziraphale directly. They tried to dampen their voice to not throw power behind it, getting a blend of both voices with only a bit of supernatural leaking through. “ **WE** chose this. **WE** won’t fight. Can’t fight. Not for them. **WE** were on different sides. If we’re like this, we’re not. We can’t be made to fight. _Please_.” 

“Well that’s alright then, I guess” a shrug from what clearly must be Adam and they dropped to their knees at the sudden release, briefly unable to make sense of how they fit in the corporation after nearly being yanked apart. They needed a moment to resettle both of them inside. They sank all the way back onto haunches, hands on the ground to steady them. 

What they’d said had apparently been just the right thing as obfuscation surrounding Adam rolled away and they SAW. The boy was still there but they were now aware that it was even more of a shell than their own corporation, holding only enough of Adam to let him interact with the world. He could not be truly seen because of the vast scale of him, warping and simultaneously inhabiting the ley lines around him, tied to the leftover power of the divine and also of the earth at the same time. As his power had grown, that vast other self had grown and grown and filled every available space with himself. But the influx of new power at the start of Armageddon had also frayed the edges, sending self expanding outward, trying to spill away to the whole world, nearly becoming lost in that vastness. But Adam very much knew who he was and where he wished to be and the majority of his body was still here in Tadfield. Some small parts of it were residing in others, held dear and tight by the one letting it in, and the sense too was there that it was _let_ in. They could feel the shivering tension there of a vast body wanting to flow into every available space, to put more of himself into there, to define more of the self in how it related to others. 

They were faintly aware of other people having arrived and a conversation happening around them as they could feel Adam’s power reach out and curl about the new arrivals, trying to figure out where to put all of that power, reaching out for that connection to see if it was accepted or rejected as he attempted to anchor himself here. And seeing it in action they could feel that the earlier attempt to pull them apart had been done without malice, just a misunderstanding of Crowley and Aziraphale’s agreement. They’d rejected that presence, but Adam had not entirely pulled away, merely made it clear what was being asked and offered in the only way he could, by letting them SEE. 

They refocused as someone was speaking to them, a vaguely familiar sounding voice, and they looked up at a woman they’d seen once before. She looked down at them with a mix of anger, concern, and confusion. 

“What happened to you, where’s your… where’s the other one?” 

“Oh… Book girl… He’s here.” Crowley pressed his hand over his sternum. Then he realized that probably seemed sentimental rather than literal. 

Aziraphale took over and made a brief wave with hand “Thank you for your concern, I have been better. But I _am_ here.” They realized the book was sitting next to them, from when they’d sunk to knees. “Oh, yes, this is yours. I am terribly sorry to return your book to you in such a state, but well, the rest of the bookshop rather burnt down and this was what was left.” as he offered the book to her. 

“I’m going to need an explanation for all this.” 

The man with her looked utterly lost by what was happening. “Why are you two people?” 

“That is a long story…” Aziraphale started “... and it has been a very long day.” Crowley finished. 

“Aaaaaand it's not over so going to have to wait.” They scrambled back to feet as they could feel a shift in atmosphere as some great power approached. 

The sky and ground split at the same time and then the head of each host was there to see why Armageddon had ground to a halt. A decision must be made and no decision had happened. 

“Lord Beelzebub. What an honour.” Crowley gave a bow and a flourish of hands to his boss that was riding the edge between serious and disrespectful. 

“Crowley, the traitor.” Beelzebub definitely had come down on the side of ‘disrespectful.’ 

“That’s not a nice word.” 

“All the other words I have for you are worse. Some words may need to be invented to describe whatever it is you’re doing now. Traitor is as close as we have right now for this level of… everything.” Ze made a hand motion at all of Crowley. 

Clearly there was no point in hiding, so Aziraphale contributed. “I would think treason would be considered the highest form of honour for demons.” 

Gabriel looked deeply confused for a moment. Eyes went violet as some of celestial form bled through so he could try and shift perception. He tilted hos head back and forth a few times like that would make what he was seeing make sense. 

“Wait, what, Aziraphale, what are you doing in there?” Gabriel sounded equal parts confused and disgusted by what was happening 

“Well you did tell me to lose the gut, so I rather took it to heart.” Crowley was simultaneously furious at getting this information on earlier conversation and delighted at Aziraphale using it as a way to be a bastard to his superior. Deference was going to get them nowhere, so they agreed they might as well go full bastard. 

“That is not what I meant! This is… this is…. Something. There are no words for this level of.... Surely you’ve Fallen?” Gabriel had settled on disgust. 

“Ha, we are up two then! No longer an even match!” Beelzebub sounded delighted. 

“No, that’s just one extra!” 

“No, it's two more than you.” 

“I know how math works!” 

“Do you?” 

“Of course I know how math works!” 

Aziraphale cleared throat slightly “I don’t think I Fell as there surely would be some paperwork about that, and I think Hell would have that. So, I am merely in a different location than anticipated.” 

“You’re supposed to be leading a regiment, so this is technically desertion. Because you’re certainly not doing it in THAT body.” 

“Certainly not! So desertion it is. I believe that would also generate some paperwork, which should really be put in order before anything else happens.” 

“We do not need to finish a bunch of paperwork before that, get back to where you’re supposed to be and we’ll sort it out later! This is a war!” 

“We seem to be lacking War. And what was it Sandolphon said, ‘can’t have a war without War.’ Plus I’m rather lacking a body to do that and you just said I can’t use this one, which I entirely agree with. Crowley would look terrible in Heaven’s uniforms, so I think I’ll just have to fill out a request for a new one and wait, which likely won’t get addressed for awhile since I believe everyone is out of the office.” 

“We are not delaying Armageddon due to paperwork irregularities!” Beelzebub cut in, as Gabriel seemed utterly confused by what was happening. 

“Dagon might disagree.” Crowley grinned. 

“Dagon can just deal with it! No more stalling over paperwork! Or math! Or whatever you two are doing!” Beelzebub gestured at Crowley’s body again. “Where is the boy? We need to get this restarted.” 

Gabriel looked at the gathered kids and had a brief moment of apparently not knowing which boy was the Antichrist. “Adam Young.” Adam reacted just enough so Gabriel settled on him, despite him appearing to be the most normal thing going on here. “That one.” as he pointed and stepped forward, all charm and smiles. Crowley could tell Adam wasn’t buying it, as even with all that restless power needing to go somewhere, there’d been no attempt to reach out to Gabriel or Beelzebub. 

“Young man, Armageddon must restart, right now. This temporary confusion…” Crowley made a brief hand gesture at Gabriel, that Gabriel clearly was anticipating was going to be a middle finger, not them holding up two fingers and mouthing ‘math’ at him, which totally rattled him again. “...is.. is... getting in the way of the greater good!” 

Beelzebub had focused on Adam now as well. “That has yet to be decided. But it must be decided, boy. That is your destiny. It is written. Now restart the war.” 

“You both want to end the world, just to see whose gang is best.” Adam sounded like he was stating this to make sure, yes, their plan really was THAT stupid. 

Gabriel scowled at Adam’s tone. “That’s the Great Plan. It’s the entire point of the creation of the Earth…” Crowley and Aziraphale could feel the curl of Adam’s power at that, wrapping tighter round the land itself, anchoring him further to the mortal plane. He drew that vast self away from Gabriel and Beelzebub, leaving them isolated. 

“I’ve got this.” Beelzebub cut in. “Adam, once this is over you’re going to get to rule the world. Don’t you want to rule the world?” 

“It’s hard enough having to think of things for Pepper and Wensleydale and Brian to do all the time so they don’t get bored. I’ve got all the world I want” There was brief touch to each of the named people and the feel of the ley lines being pulled in closer, tighter, the edge of that vast self pulling inwards. 

“You can’t refuse to be who you are! Your birth and destiny are part of the Great Plan.” Gabriel’s words only seemed to make Adam pull himself closer into Tadfield, though his face remained unchanged. 

“If it’s all already decided, why do you lot mess about with people at all? It’d just happen, you wouldn’t be trying to convince me. ” 

“That’s, that’s....” Gabriel’s confusion looked like it was about to tip over to rage and he might start the whole thing finally by attacking the Antichrist. 

“Excuse me. You keep talking about the Great Plan.” Aziraphale sounded oh-so-terribly polite. 

“Aziraphale. Maybe you should just keep your mouth shut.” Gabriel made a brief motion at face that could be interpreted both as a zip-your-lips motion and throat slash. 

“I’m not clear on one thing. Is this the Ineffable Plan?” 

Beelzebub cut off whatever Gabriel was going to say. “The Great Plan. It is written. There shall be a world and it shall last for six thousand years and end in fire and flame…” Crowley twitched slightly at the fire part but could feel Aziraphale still with him, so it didn’t carry over to their corporation. 

“Yes, that’s the Great Plan all right. Just wondering if it’s the Ineffable Plan as well.” Aziraphale’s ‘just wondering’ had a faint little extra sound to it of Crowley’s voice bleeding through to sound like a question in chorus. 

“It’s the same thing.” Gabriel sounded dismissive, but there was a thread of unease there. 

Gabriel was so used to dismissing Aziraphale that hearing the same words from someone else’s mouth seemed like they’d be more effective, so Crowley fully took over. “Is it? You don’t know though. The Ineffable Plan is, well, ineffable. By definition, we can’t know it. So you could be doing what the Great Plan said, but going directly against God’s Ineffable Plan. Can’t know that.” 

“But it is written!” Beelzebub had a similar tone to Gabriel. 

Aziraphale took over and looked at zem. “The Great Plan was. The Ineffable Plan…” 

Gabriel got back some of his dismissiveness now that Aziraphale was speaking again. “God does not play games with the universe!” 

Both were in such agreement their voice twined together in perfect harmony, sounding both disappointed and sympathetic at the same time. “Where have you _been_? Everyone knows the Great Plan.” 

Gabriel seemed at a loss. Beelzebub looked at Adam. 

“I told you.” Their game was _stupid_ and Adam was not playing. 

Beelzebub looked briefly very tired before covering it up and laying a hand on Gabriel’s arm to pull him away. He initially recoiled from touch but let himself be pulled a few feet away. 

“I’m going to need to... to talk to… G… to head office. How am I going to get ten million angels to stand down from war footing?” 

“You ought to try to get ten million demons to put down their weapons and get back to work.” There was a slight hint of question to ‘work’. _Was_ there work? 

“At least we know whose fault this is!” Gabriel glared over at Crowley, who let Aziraphale handle the smiling. He was better at that sort of polite bastarding, afterall. Beelzebub might have been looking at them as well, but seemed to be gazing off into the distance. 

Gabriel turned attention back to Adam. “Young man, you were put on this earth to do one thing and one thing only. To end it. You disobedient little brat! I hope someone tells your father!” Gabriel sounded less angry and more like he was saying what he needed to make sure the fault was found elsewhere. As he started to turn towards Beelzebub, ze put up a hand. 

“Fine. I will. His father will not be pleased.” And then ze was gone, back into the earth as if ze’d never been there at all. 

Gabriel stared at the spot ze had been, mouth half open as he’d been about to say something to his counterpart. He cast one more scowl at the lot, decided blaming actual humans wouldn’t work, and was just gone. There was a lingering smell of ozone. 

There was a moment when they all just looked around at each other, trying to determine if that was it. It was over? Just like that? Then Crowley went rigid as serpent senses picked up the overwhelming scent of cracking, burning stone and the raw stench of scorched flesh and vibrating fury driving it. “No no no no.” He was so overwhelmed by yet more burning, he forgot how legs worked, leaving Aziraphale to take over their body, keeping them upright. 

The confused young man with the group offered up “Perhaps it's a volcano…” 

The woman they’d handed the book to shifted to try and keep balance. “No there aren’t any volcanoes in England. It’s really angry, whatever it is. I can feel it, it’s getting closer…” 

Aziraphale shook head at them both “The Devil is coming. Satan himself.” 

Crowley was just overwhelmed and despairing at being able to do anything, but Aziraphale was having none of that. He went and picked up the dropped sword, not that it was likely going to help much, but he certainly wasn’t going to give up without a fight. He had too many things he wanted to do with Crowley. 

“Come on now, if you just give up, I’ll never get to talk to you again. Or do any number of other things.” 

“But we are fuuuucked.” 

“You _could_ be.” There were a lot of _things_ he wished to do with Crowley. 

“How are you LIKE this? We’re about to die and this, _this_ is what you’re using to get me motivated?” 

“Is it working?” 

“Damnit, yes. Just need time… Adam!” As soon as they could feel his attention on them, Crowley tried to pause time locally, Aziraphale lending some of his own power to give shape to it. They tried not to pull from the ley lines that currently were Adam, unsure if he’d let them do anything to him. Without that extra power, there was no chance of halting the furious rush of power coming ahead of Satan's arrival. He would not be forestalled. 

They could feel the moment Adam let them guide his own power. Still not enough to stop time for Satan, so Crowley instead extended it outward, pulling the timeless ethereal part of them briefly into distortion usually used for visions, blinding and clean and free of distractions. Somewhere it was safe to reveal true forms to humans as it was so far removed from their everyday experience, the mind could absorb it like a dream while it all having happened in a single timeless instant. Not that Adam was entirely human, but it would hopefully provide that same sort of clarity. 

There was the vast desert outside Eden. Off in the distance stood the far off wall of Eden and a long path of footprints leading up to Adam, here, now as one small boy with vast power. The boy wavered a little along edges but that vast roiling endless form… that had been left far away in space and time yet to come. That was not what they had expected at all. 

“Your fathher isss coming to desssstroy you. Probably to desssstroy all of ussss.” Crowley’s hiss was impossible to avoid this way as he was in serpent form, draped around Aziraphale who mostly appeared to be his usual soft, inviting human form but had ended up with both their wings, as he had earlier. The flaming sword didn’t quite fit in with that image, but the rest of it was becoming very comfortable. 

Adam looked perplexed at words. “My dad? He wouldn’t hurt anybody.” 

“Not your earthhly fathher. Ssssatan. Your fathher who is no longer in Heaven. He’sss coming and he isss angry.” 

“What do you want me to do about it? Fight him?” Adam glanced at Aziraphale’s flaming sword that had so recently dispatched three of the Horseman. 

“It’s yours if you want it.” Aziraphale turned his grip slightly, so he could hand it over, but Adam shook his head fiercely at him. 

“M’not going to touch that sword for anything. Taking it means something. It’s like those nightmares. They brought it, but it’s what ended them.” 

“It was mine once. I gave it away. To the first Adam.” 

“And this one doesn’t want it. You keep it.” 

Aziraphale looked at it. “No. I made my decision.” Aziraphale knelt and drove the sword into the ground, the flame smothered in the sand. “Fighting won’t help us”. 

“You will have to think of ssssomething elssssse.” 

“But I’m just a kid!” 

“You are, thankfully. For years, I was scared you’d be Hell incarnate. But still I hoped you could be changed, could be remade to be heaven incarnate. Look at yourself, you aren’t either of those things. You’re better than that. You’re human incarnate.” 

Adam looked down at his own hands. “Am I?” There was a brief hint of that vast other form, the edges of the boy spilling away into the world. 

“If you want to be. It’s amazing what complexity you can fit inside.” Aziraphale stroked his hand along Crowley’s coils. 

“You can dessssside for yoursssself. You already dessssided onsssse. Who do you want to be? What do you want to be? You’re human, you get to choosssse.” 

“And you, you said you chose. To not fight.” Adam looked at where Aziraphale had driven the sword into the ground. 

“I guess I did.” Crowley could feel him trying to assemble thoughts as that realization slid into place. Adam was right, it meant _something._ “There’s… there’s a difference between being harmless and choosing to do no harm. You _could_ fight. You _might_ win. But would you recognize yourself at the end?” 

“Choosssse wisssely. And quickly. We can’t ssstay out of time much longer.” Clouds were forming at the edge of the desert, building up as time reached the limit to which it could be stretched. 

“It is your choice. That’s the important part.” There was a great deal of fondness in Aziraphale’s voice and he ran a hand over Crowley’s head. “We’ll be there, if you need us.” 

“If you asssk.” 

Adam looked at them for a moment before turning back on them, and there was a moment where they felt as if it had all gone horribly wrong and then the wavering edges of Adam firmed up and he _was_ just a kid. 

“I’m going to releassse time. Reality will lisssten to you, but you won’t have long…” 

“Do it.” 

The clarity vanished and they were thrust back into dealing with chaotic present, senses being overwhelmed by power and fury of new arrival. Satan was indeed here and very, very angry. Angry enough to have not bothered with a corporation and just shown up in full infernal glory. Though that meant that there was not the shielding buffer of flesh to shape interaction with the physical world. But he still had millenia to come up with a shape to that self and cement a view of how the world worked. 

“Where’s my son?” His eyes fell upon Adam, small little Adam, and not the vast rest of him “You!? You’re my rebellious son? Come here.” Adam was already there. 

“No. You’re not my Dad. You don’t know me. You don’t get to show up and tell me you know me.” 

“What?” A twitch of that great demonic form as the words struck him. 

“If I’m in trouble with my Dad… it won’t be you. It’s going to be the Dad that was there. The one that knows me. You’re …. Not … My … Dad.” 

“What did you say?” It was surprisingly soft and bewildered. The words did not fit in with the way he knew the world to be. And then it tipped over to fury. “Come, HERE.” A command to conform to the way he knew things were, the way they must be. But this was not his realm and Adam was HERE and it was his. 

“You’re not my Dad. You never were. You never will be.” And with that, that vast other timeless self that was and wasn’t Adam was SEEN and was pushed away, to roll out into the world. To be that whole world. Ley lines that had poured into Adam reversed out and what had come in rolled back out with a sureness of truth, that Adam was of this world and that his Dad was HERE and Satan had no foothold here. And without any flesh to anchor him to this realm and fight back against that, was written out of the world that Adam lived in. 

Adam wavered on his feet and they could feel some part of that self still reaching outward, looking for an anchor for this reality to keep him from spilling away into the whole world. They followed that thread along to where he was looking and it was easy enough to twist things along ley lines so there were no men, no gates, no more physical distance between Adam and what he was reaching for. 

Where the ground had buckled seconds before there was now a car and a middle aged man getting out of it, looking for his son. 

“Adam? Adam? Oh for heaven’s sake. Adam! Where are you!” 

“Dad!” Adam ran to his father on shaky legs and flung arms around him, and that vast self stopped spilling away. Some parts of it were gifted to his father and accepted as the real anchor he needed to try and pull himself back into the boy, to _be_ his father’s son, to be of this world, and held tight by it. 

“Are you alright?” Mr. Young ran his hands through Adam’s hair, looking at son’s face 

“You’re here!” 

“Of course. But what is _happening_?” 

“I just want to go _home_.” There was that pleading note there, to be allowed to finally rest and wrap up all the raw edges of himself, to be the child allowed to cry now. 

“He’s just had a bit of a scare, that’s all.” Crowley’s face did actually naturally want to fall into a gentle smile… so long as it was directed at a child. 

“A nice cup of cocoa always worked well for me for that sort of thing.” Aziraphale added 

Mr Young’s eyes looked at them and the two voices coming out of a single person, roamed over to the Them and the young couple there, and the weirdness of having been definitely on the road approaching the base not actually on it…. But then he looked down at where Adam was clinging to him. 

“That does sound good. But then straight to bed.” Adam just squeezed him tight. 

“Here then, let’s get his bike and you can get him home to bed. It was a very tiring day.” The Them came hurrying over and there were a bunch of teary hugs exchanged while Mr Young strapped the bike to the back of the car. Adam got into the passenger side and was handed Dog, who was eager to lick his face. 

“Remember what we said.” Aziraphale reached out his hand to let Adam decide if he wanted to take it. Adam was looking at their hand that clearly held _something_ not entirely there. There was that brief hesitation and then Adam carefully took hand and the contents. There was that moment of connection to let him _in_ , to let him see clearly how they had fit themselves into this body that should have been too small for two. They let him see that flicker of wings, not actually extended into the physical world, but just brought faintly out of alignment with the physical corporation and then folded away just as quickly, to demonstrate part of how it was done. “Might be a bit snug on first try, but I’m sure you’ll work it out.” 

Mr Young went and got in the car and they looked at him briefly “He’s such a nice lad. Glad we got to meet him.” 

The remaining people on tarmac stared after the car leaving for a moment and then there was a complete riot of noise as everyone started talking over each other, all along the lines of ‘what the hell just happened?’ 

Crowley pressed hands over tired eyes and then dragged them down over his face. “World didn’t end. Now have to deal with the rest of eternity.” A deep sigh. “I just want … sleep/dinner” The last word was a tangle of two different words coming out at once. Then a sigh and a single voice. “Both, yeah both. Dinner then sleep. Works better in that order.” 

There was a pause in the questioning as everyone took stock of themselves at that. Those _did_ sound awfully good. 

“I want to go home” came from one of the kids. “Yeah.” And then they were all moving towards bikes. 

“Come on book girl, we’ll give you a lift. Least we can do is make sure we get out of here without starting a mundane war with the Americans.” Their voice wavered between the two, in general agreement but not quite in exact alignment. One sounded a lot more tired than the other. 

They made a brief detour to retrieve the crown and scales from where they’d fallen, not quite sure what to do with them but sure leaving them lying in the middle of an army base was a bad idea. The adults piled into the Jeep and Crowley took a moment to stare at the wheel and stick shift before starting it. A little twitch and he was clearly fully fronting again to handle driving. 

“Lead the way, kids.” 

The girl looked at him briefly. “You don’t know how to get off the base, do you?” 

Another sigh. “You got me. I spent way too much of the damn day lost, I’m asking for directions this time.” 

She gave a little snort but then waved hand for them to follow along. The base was still in disarray from earlier events and from Adam’s recent passage, so they only briefly attracted attention. Aziraphale handled making sure the front gate was stuck open and required the military's full attention. 

As soon as they passed that gate, that sense of suspended moment between times vanished. All the players had left the battlefield and the weapons were all soon to be put away… somewhere. They could still feel the restless shift of Adam through the local ley lines, but they were starting to move back to more normal, expected alignments. It felt like things might actually be over. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel’s actually right that Hell would be up one if Aziraphale had Fallen, but it’s a total accident, since he didn’t known Ligur’s dead. Beez knew, but forgot in excitement. If Ligur wasn’t gone, ze would have been right that they would be up two if Aziraphale had Fallen. And damned if ze’re going to correct math error now in front of Gabriel once they figure C & A are both out and they’re actually down one again. No stopping the Apocalypse to argue about math!
> 
> Dagon is disappointed in them both and never would have made this error. I mean, really.
> 
> Also while I was writing this chapter, I realized I included an "angels are bad at math" joke in the other fic I was working on. My recurring themes are apparently math and bodies are weird.


	5. Tea for two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What should have been a simple ride out of there takes rather more time, but slowing down gives them more time to deal with how their current situation may play out long term.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had very good intentions of this being 6 chapters and then THIS chapter and the next one happened and chapter 5 is now chapter 7.  
> But I had a lot of fun with it.

They tried giving the book girl and the young man with her a ride back to where they’d left their vehicle. Aziraphale carried on a conversation with them which got broken into sporadically with Crowley swearing at the Jeep. It shouldn’t have been that long of a ride, but the shifting ley lines underneath them were very disorienting. Having had the veil pulled back earlier meant they were all too aware of Adam’s attempts to withdraw from them, shaking off bits as not being _him_ and sending them away with a vague directive to return to where they had been before and revert the surroundings to what had been before Armageddon. 

But this was very lacking in control or precision. With such a vague directive, many changes were being made at once and then remade as they counteracted each other requiring another round of alterations as things tried to return to some kind of equilibrium. It wasn’t quite the burning overload of before, this was in some ways worse as it would ebb and flow making it harder to grow accustomed to it. Crowley had shifted internally to bring himself into a more human-like form again to try and slow the buildup between them and make it easier to operate the vehicle. Aziraphale also tried shifting about several times to take some of it and dissipate it back to the ley line and Crowley caught book girl looking at what wasn’t quite their corporation but was definitely part of Aziraphale on a few occasions where he’d turned his head at stop sign. 

Aziraphale had kept up talking with their temporary companions and managed to get names and partial explanations of how Newt and Anathema got drawn into the events at the airbase. Crowley was trying to focus simply on driving and following occasional directions to turn at specific points to bring them back to where the pair had left their vehicle, but was finding the landscape he saw and what he perceived with other senses wasn’t entirely matching up. A yelp from Newt and Aziraphale’s attention suddenly snapping back and trying to take over the operation of hands got Crowley to pull over. 

“I hate this… but Newt, you need to drive.” 

“Me?” 

“I’ve run us onto the shoulder twice now trying to follow the movement of a ley line.” 

“The what now?” Newt looked at the dividing line in the road like it was going to decide to start moving suddenly. 

“Why not ask me?” Anathema said from the passenger seat. “I do know how. And this Jeep is set up American style.” There was a bit of a bite to voice, but she was holding back to let them try to explain before starting a fight. 

Aziraphale put up their hand. “Dear lady, no offense was meant. You clearly could sense the approach of power back at the airbase while Mr. Pulsifer...” 

“Newt, please.” 

“Newt didn’t directly. The current situation with the ley lines is quite distracting. Having someone not sensitive to them drive seems like the wiser course of action.” 

“Why were you driving in the first place then?” Anathema was giving them a look that said she very clearly remembered that Crowley had run her over before. 

“Didn’t get bad ‘til we left the airbase. Crossed a boundary. Then everything got very unstable, but we’d dealt with it earlier because they were all part of a large line that I’d sort of intentionally shifted a bit and could ride… this is just...chaotic.” 

She narrowed eyes at him, considering. “I usually need tools to really identify them clearly, but they are definitely doing… something that’s clear enough to not need tools.” 

Aziraphale tilted their head slightly. “It’s rather disorienting. I don’t suggest actually trying to observe them for a few days. Probably better that way.” 

“Angel, that’s just encouraging her. _Don’t look._ Of course she’s going to now.” He rolled eyes and then gave her a more sober look. “When you go looking, take Newt along as you may need a hand back home.” 

“I’m not going to faint.” She seemed to be trying to give them the eye, but mostly looked like she had a headache. 

“I just asked him to drive.” He made a hand motion at Newt as he got out of the driver’s seat. “I HATE the entire idea of being driven. _Hate_ it. And I’m asking because I’ve reached the point of admitting that I’m just going to get us lost again or in a wreck.” 

“Oh, so you did learn something after hitting me with a car.” The snap was back. 

“You hit me.” Crowley did sound apologetic, though. 

“Wait, they hit you with a car?” Newt had clambered from the back into the driver’s seat. 

“She’s obviously fine. Let’s just agree it was mutual and chalk it up to having a rather eventful few days.” Aziraphale hopped into the back seat, having a brief little internal fight with Crowley about who to sit behind and they ended up behind Newt. 

“Where’s your car anyway?” Anathema twisted around to be able to keep an eye on them. 

“Drove it through a burning ley line and it sort of detonated afterward.” Crowley was trying to sound neutral about it and failing. “She was a good car.” 

“Why did we agree to get in a vehicle with them?” Newt wasn’t much enjoying having them directly behind him now. He worked on adjusting the seat as best he could, but wasn’t having much luck until it miraculously shifted to just the right position. 

“They gave me a ride before, right after they hit me, which is how I lost the Book.” She aimed a glare at them, though that might also have had something to do with the Jeep having just acquired some side mirrors just as Newt had gone looking for ones to adjust. 

“OH. _Those_ guys. Or one guy right now. This is… everything else seems to be going back to normal. Sort of. Is _this_ normal?” The sudden appearance of mirrors had _not_ gone unnoticed, but they decided to address the other question instead. 

“Unprecedented really. Demons can occasionally possess humans or animals, and now it seems angels can too. But that involved natural bodies. Two etherial entities really shouldn’t fit in a single corporation.” The eyebrows of which had shot up at Aziraphale referring to them both as ethereal. 

“By corporation, he means a _body_ not a business. They’re not exactly human, not really us entirely, so _corporation_ makes it clear it’s not quite like yours. It’s really just a shell. It’s yours but not really what we actually look like. Can potentially get swapped for a different one. Or shared.” There was a blending of voices on ‘shared’ that was so fond sounding that Newt’s shoulders started to relax, despite them being behind him. 

“But Heaven is rather unlikely to issue me a new one after this, so I may well be sharing with Crowley for however long it takes them to sort that out.” Aziraphale sounded like that was just fine by him. 

“They’ll probably figure out they could discorporate us both at once now. Or maybe do an exorcism. That’ll be a sight, exorcising an angel out of a demon’s body. That or they’ll eject me out here and leave you in here and that would be even more of a mess. Kind of uncharted territory here. I have a lot of questions.” Not that he was going to share the rest in front of the humans, but he had so many some of them were spilling out anyway. 

“We’ll just have to figure it out. They’re rather unhappy with us trying to stop the world from ending.” 

“Do you think they’re likely to do anything to us?” Anathema had hit on a rather important question they hadn’t quite considered yet. 

Aziraphale paused for a few seconds while considering, then shook his head. “I don’t think they actually saw precisely what you did, they were focused elsewhere, and wouldn’t believe that humans basically stopped the whole thing. You didn’t get included in Gabriel’s specific accusations, so Heaven probably won’t realize you were involved. Might not even believe it. Hell might believe it but are going to have so much chaos to deal with, probably won’t get organized to do anything until after you’ve died of natural causes.” 

“That seems like a long time to get organized.” Anathema didn’t sound hopeful it would take them that long and like she was already starting to come up with some contingency plans. 

“Well the world as they knew it ended without actually ending in the manner they had been told it would. So they’re going to have to try and figure out how to either move on...” 

“HA!” from Crowley. 

“Or return to existing status like nothing happened, while something very clearly _did_. That would be very like them both.” There was a distinct note of disapproval from Aziraphale. 

“They’re probably just going to focus on punishing us.” Crowley was matter of fact about it. 

“That seems unfair.” Newt was now mostly focused on driving, but was clearly at least following the conversation. 

Crowley shrugged. “Hell is not fair. ‘Sides that was half of antagonizing those two, so they’d focus on us, not Adam.” 

Anathema shook her head slightly. “I can’t believe he was the Great Beast I was supposed to be searching for the whole time. He’s so sweet.” 

“He had a magical defense...” Crowley waved his hand in the air searching for words and just gave up after a moment. “thingy... that turned away attempts to directly search for him in any kind of magical or occult way. Worked out in the end. He got raised as a human instead of us messing about with him.” 

“Oh, dear, I do hope Warlock is alright…” Aziraphale’s concern put Crowley a bit on edge, but he’d at least had some update on the situation when Hastur had contacted him earlier. He didn’t know if Warlock was alright, but Hastur hadn’t taunted him about murdering the boy, so that likely meant he was at least alive... 

“ _Warlock?”_ Anathema was giving them quite the look and getting one back that said that really, she shouldn’t be commenting on anyone’s name. 

Crowley pushed his worry aside for the moment. “Boy we thought was the Antichrist. But wasn’t. We kind of raised him. Probably messed him up a bit, but might have ended up that way anyway what with his parents…” 

“They tried.” 

“They did _not_. When the boy is turning to a literal demon for comfort, things have gone seriously wrong.” 

“You’re very good with children.” 

“Still a demon!’ 

“He was the nanny.” It was directed at Anathema, but there was such fondness behind that Crowley squirmed internally. 

Crowley huffed in a way much more Aziraphael’s style. “That they hired a demon as the nanny is just proving my point!” Nevermind he’d arranged to be the only applicant that day...but they hadn’t actually tried to acquire anyone else in all that time. Aziraphale gave him a brief little memory of Crowley sitting outside with Warlock in her lap, weaving a flower crown for her little Prince. There was a deep fondness from Aziraphale, that that was _exactly_ why they’d never considered hiring anyone else. Crowley was fairly certain their corporation was blushing. He did a quick pat down of self to miraculously find sunglasses in an inside pocket and put them back on. 

“Are you supposed to be glowing?” from Newt, who had taken a hand off the wheel to partially block reflection off the side mirror. 

Crowley snapped focus back to present. Feelings _later_. “Nope! That happened earlier too. Overload from the ley line. We can maybe discharge some of it back to line so long as we give it something to do.” 

“Oh, we could repair your book!” Aziraphale swapped in. “That would certainly bleed some of it off. If you’d like.” 

“I would.” Anathema sounded a little miffed, but Aziraphale entirely agreed with the sentiment. They _had_ returned it in frightful condition. 

Aziraphale focused to give guidance to the general command of returning things to normal to return the book to its pre-fire state. Gave structure to the command resonating through surroundings to return things to how they had been, by giving it more detailed instructions to do so. He knew how the book had looked when it had reached his hands initially and what flaws it had then and did a few little improvements to restore a few chips to page edges and get rid of some foxing to the endpapers. Crowley didn’t actually bother to say it so humans could hear it, but there was a clear ‘lord heal this book’ and an answering ‘hush, you’ internally. 

“Impressive.” Anathema has watched the process intently now that she knew it was about to happen, rather than having it occurring just out of direct observation as had happened with her bicycle and now the Jeep. 

“The general command residing in the ley lines Adam released is to return things to their before state. So this is basically just giving form to what it’s trying to do already. Much of the chaos in the lines right now is because time has passed and consequences have spread outward, so it's not exactly a direct path to return things to where they were before the start of Armageddon. That should not only be as it was before that, it should be a little better.” 

“You’re less glowy.” Newt was no longer squinting in the mirrors. 

“Taking easy route for restoring things might not be the best option to cut that then.” from Crowley, though he was currently doing just that to smooth away every pothole and crack in their line of sight. 

“That’s what power wants to default to. But we could probably do some related things that would drain off more, stop the build up but still be in line with the general command. Could probably bless you two to turn away attention of Hell. It’s both as things were and not. Before you didn’t have Hell’s attention, now could actively turn it away so they forget about this, so it’s still filling the same before-state of Hell has no idea where you are.” 

“Would that attract attention to lay that kind of …wait, can you even bless things?” As Anathema realized the demon had been the one talking about blessing them 

“I’m a demon, but I occasionally traded jobs with Aziraphale when it worked out that way. Basically the same power, just labeled differently. Only difference between me cursing you and him blessing you is whose name it’s done in.” 

“Yes, well, I think in this case, it would be in _our_ name.” There was a definite bit of power behind that ‘our’. They seemed to be in agreement here that they really were doing the same thing. 

Crowely made a thinking noise as he considered how best to actually do so without attracting attention. “Most of effect would have fingerprints of Adam, if they looked. Which would be exactly what they expect to see and make it harder TO see. We’re just giving it a bit more shape. Tadfield is already sort of warded overall from that sort of observation because of him. Could likely twist it neatly so you could carry a piece of that with you. So long as Tadfield’s protection holds, then so does that.” 

“What do you mean carry with me?” Anathema seemed interested, but cautious. 

“Don’t want to accidentally bind you here, that’d be a mess, but you’re a witch, you can figure out how to make a representative token.” 

“That sounds more reasonable.” Anathema seemed to be already focused on figuring out how to do exactly. 

“I’m not sure how that is reasonable at all.” from Newt. “It’s been a very weird day, but doesn’t taking things from demons generally imply some kind of deal is being made?” 

“He’s right. Really should be some kind of formal deal, just in case it doesn’t hold and Hell comes knocking. Make a formal pact that indicates we’re square. Handwavey, oh I’ll just give you a blessing, how do you know I’m not going to slip in something sneaky?” Crowley wasn’t planning to, but it was actually a good idea to do formal agreement. Trying to collect an only partially completed contract seemed right up Hell’s dark alley. 

“Well I’m here, so you’re not.” 

“I miiiiiiight.” 

“He won’t.” Aziraphale gave Anathema a slightly exasperated look, but Crowley could feel it was all show. 

“We accepted a ride from you without getting something formal, but now I’m driving, so I think that should come out even.” Newt swallowed a bit nervously. “A ride for a ride.” 

“Oooh… yes, shake on it. We’ll call it even. I like it.” Crowley had a bit of a grin and reached hand over Newt’s shoulder to do just that. 

“I’m concerned. You sound awful chuffed.” Newt checked his face in the rear view mirror and didn’t take a hand off the wheel just yet. 

“I like that you thought it through. As pacts go… eh. This is real tame. The sort of people that summon demons to make pacts are often the sort of wankers already bound for Hell who should not be given any more power anyway, so it’s almost always more a question of how quickly could I wiggle out of there without actually doing what they wanted. Shaking on this bit before we actually negotiate just is acknowledging we’re starting with no existing debts.” Including any role any of them had played in the whole saving the world, but they definitely didn’t want to draw attention to that part. 

“But what would you _want_? I’m not sure of the value of occult services” Newt briefly looked over at Anathema who gave him a distinct ‘why are you looking at me like I know the going rate for demonic services?’ look back. “I don’t want to be insulting with what’s offered.” 

Aziraphale put his hand over his mouth for a moment, so Newt couldn’t see how amused they were at this. This, _this_ was what he was concerned about. Don’t insult the demon with an offer that’s too low. Bless the English. 

“Well… “ Aziraphale recomposed his face to not look more serious. “This would stop some of the build up of power on us when a ley line rolls over us. We do need to put it somewhere, and Adam’s current command is playing itself out, so we need to be cautious about what we’re doing doesn’t interfere with that. It does overall fit in with the general command, so much of the craft is just making sure it sticks. Just doing it helps us out in some ways, but, yes, there should be some compensation so it does not seem to be an unpaid debt that could be collected on at a later date.” 

If this worked, Hell wouldn’t be able to come looking for them while alive, but an open contract might bar them from elsewhere or have Hell trying to collect at death as it suddenly appeared unpaid. They’d tried that often enough when Crowley got a little too generous with miracles that he was careful to make sure he got something for major ones. And this definitely would border on that, unless... 

“The power isn’t being drawn from our personal reserves. That’s actually the Antichrist’s and he definitely told Hell he’s not in their employ. We’re basically just doing a very complicated consult on applying it properly. So appropriate payment would be along the lines of a tutoring session.” 

“A tutoring session? Do you do a lot of those?” Anathema now seemed _very_ interested. 

“Eh, not so much anymore now that a lot more people can read and the internet really stopped almost all of them. I haven’t been summoned for tutoring for, hmm, since Warlock was born. Shame, those are really the only summonings I *like* and am not going to be trying to immediately get out of doing it. So I’ve got a baseline of what those cost. Generally a mundane favor and drink, possibly a meal depending on how long it runs and how difficult the subject.” 

“That seems on par with a human tutors rates. What exactly do you teach?” She tried to sound casual and it did not at all. 

Crowley grew cautious. “Ngnnn… probably nothing of interest.” 

Aziraphale snorted as he could pick up a faint edge of memories of what Crowley generally got summoned for. 

“Oh is it _that_ kind of tutoring?” Anathema gave him a look over, most of the craftiness hidden behind something else. 

“What? What do you think I’m teaching?” Aziraphale filled him in on what the look meant and he sputtered for a moment. “No! No. Wrong kind of demon! Oh, God, eugh, Satan, nooooo.” 

“What did you think he taught?” Newt seemed utterly baffled. 

Anathema gave him a pat on shoulder. “Nevermind. I guessed wrong.” 

“But what do you teach? Math?” 

“Moral philosophy!” Aziraphale was deeply amused that Anathama’s obvious, to him, baiting had worked. Crowley was annoyed at them for both being bastards. 

Anathema clearly hadn’t been expecting that answer. “People are summoning a demon. To teach them ethics.” 

Crowley threw up his hands. “Look, if you’re one of the few people in a 100 mile radius that’s ever read even the most basic philosophical texts, and most of the nearby people can’t even read at all, summoning a demon for a chat starts to seem like a good idea. Even just long distance correspondence was hard for a long time. So, you’ve got a complex question about free will and access to a grimoire, summoning the Serpent of Eden to ask him your questions seems like a perfectly reasonable idea because if you even GET a demon, it opens up a whole world of exciting possibilities right there.” At least one of those possibilities being said demon asking a certain angel to do him a favor and start trying to buy a grimoire away from a book lover that really needed to pick some better reading material. Aziraphale was utterly charmed by this information. All those times Crowley had asked for a favor to stop him getting ‘inconveniently summoned’ being attempts to have him counteract Crowley’s influence on a favorite student, no wonder he’d seemed so sure the plan with the Antichrist would work! 

“So smart people do something not so smart because they’re bored, lonely, and want intellectual stimulation?” from Newt. 

“Ngk.” Crowley did not like being quite this Seen, even if Aziraphale was just utterly delighted by the whole thing. 

“That he’s easily bribed with wine helps.” Aziraphale was only vaguely trying to contain a grin on their corporation’s face. Crowley had always liked questions so he was an exceptionally cheap date in this regard. 

“Oi! It has to be _good_ wine.” And better conversation. 

“I always pick _excellent_ wine.” Though perhaps inviting the demon over for conversation had not been the wisest idea… though it had clearly worked out. 

“I think we just have tea at the cottage right now.” 

“Good enough.” Crowley had an awful fond smile on his face he could not manage to get rid of. “Still usually cost a small favor as well.” 

“Having them drive us all the way back to London seems more than a ‘small favor’ with how bad the roads out were. That likely hasn’t cleared.” 

“If the dread sigil of Odegra is now broken, we might be able to jump a phone line back.” Crowley fished in his pocket for his mobile and unlocked it. “No reception still. You have a land line?” 

“Yes. What do you mean jump a phone line?” from Anathema. 

“Can ride a phone signal back. Mobile works in an emergency, but land line provides a more stable in and out point, which I’d prefer. Aziraphale’s never done it before, so I’d prefer a signal that’s not gonna drop halfway through.” 

“I have some concerns about this plan.” Aziraphale didn’t seem concerned that it was an ability he didn’t have, afterall possession had worked, but this involved _technology_. “What if we took the bus back? Is there a bus stop in Tadfield?” 

Anathema shrugged at them, not having been in Tadfield long enough to know the public transportation options. Newt made an equally baffled face, but that seemed to be his default expression. 

“So I should not pick up phone calls from you is what I’m hearing.” Newt sounded like he was trying to think through implications. 

“Eh. It’s not my preferred method of travel. I’d much rather drive most of the time. Less uncertain and doesn’t leave a trail of where I’ve been. But it likely _is_ a mess driving back and I have jumped back to my own flat many times. Going to an unknown location… “ He shook his head. “Don’t like that. Never was really supposed to do that sort of thing in front of mortals anyway, but I suppose I could now… hmm.” 

“Great, so you wouldn’t have done anything except for me suggesting it?” 

“Well there were sort of rules about not doing obviously occult things in front of humans which I think we already broke all of them, and so’s my boss now, so I’d have got around to it eventually. Just would have been smaller. We can include a “no jumping the line into your house unless told to do so” clause in pact, if you like.” 

“I do like.” 

“So, let’s do the little even out first then. Ride for a ride to where we’re going to negotiate will even us out so we start out with nothing owed to each other. Now where are we going for this negotiation?” 

“Jasmine Cottage.” from Anathema. “Where you dropped me the first time. Is this going to even out anything we did earlier as well?” 

“We did give you a ride then.” 

“And ran me over and stole my book.” She sounded considerably less mad about it now, but the book stealing still seemed to be an issue. 

“Accidentally, for both. And we returned the book now.” Aziraphale sounded apologetic about it now, though he had certainly spent rather a lot of time with the misplaced book NOT looking for the owner… Crowley got to be the one amused now. 

“So let’s call that even as well, shake on it, and so long as we’re still negotiating a deal at Jasmine Cottage, nothing any of us do for each other there is considered as _owing_ anything. That sound reasonable enough?” 

“That sounds like you can do whatever you want while you’re there.” Anathema sounded appropriately suspicious and Crowley got quite the grin. 

“Clever girl. I can now, have done too, so it’s not really a change. It’s just very specifically neither of us owe each other anything for anything that might happen during negotiations. Just in case we do get interrupted in the middle, I’m not constrained by any restrictions but then we also don’t have to account for how many cups of tea were involved in the process.” 

Newt briefly took his hand off the wheel and reached over his shoulder. “It's true, he could.” 

Crowley went to spit in his palm and had a full body twitch as Aziraphale vetoed that part, forcefully. He daintily took Newt’s hand instead. “Very true. I’ll make sure Crowley is on good… well neutral...behavior.” 

“Aw.” 

Anathama offered her hand. “Even then” 

“Even.” 

And so this was how they ended up sitting outside Jasmine Cottage after retrieving Dick Turpin, which Crowley had almost refused to get into, but he had shaken on it and he hadn’t specified what _kind_ of ride, so this was Fair. There might have been words of protest coming out of his mouth, but the eyeroll said it was all show. 

Once they’d arrived, they’d verified the cottage had some wards on it already, which Crowley could break if sufficiently determined, but would actually be a much better idea to reinforce. They could likely even use them as the base for an appropriate portable token as it gave them a clear tie to Tadfield via their residence. They checked that the house phone could be pulled off the wall and plugged into a jack outside house wards if it ever stopped saying phone lines were overloaded. 

Newt was now making tea and finding some biscuits while the other three discussed how to properly structure a token to extend out Tadfield’s wards. Anathema seemed both impressed and appalled by what Crowley had done to the M25, but it did rather verify his credentials on how exactly to do that sort of thing. The whole extension of Tadfield’s general aura of noninterference shouldn’t be that hard and so long as it held, then they should be able to carry a piece of that along. Not so strong as what Adam had to turn away all scrutiny, but enough to turn away an accidental encounter with occult or ethereal forces. And if said forces didn’t know that was happening, it might work just as well as the full thing. 

“If this is done right, it should also keep us from bumping into you while using it. Which could potentially be inconvenient later should you need to find us for some reason. We can give you a phone number.” 

“I prefer being texted. He has a phone, but will probably be rude if you call him on it.” 

“It's for the _shop_.” 

“Yes, so he assumes customers are calling and he has to fight them off.” 

“Hmm, someone did actually call for the Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter this week. Odd. I do have largest stock of prophecy books in the UK, well HAD, but that seems more than a coincidence...” 

“Take their name down?” 

“Of course not!” 

“Now you see what I mean.” 

“They hung up on me!” 

Newt returned from the kitchen to ask what everyone wanted in their tea, specifically asking what both Crowley and Aziraphale wanted. “Oh, and you’re starting to glow again and it's more noticeable now that it's getting dark.” 

Crowley did a quick look about and restored a bunch of broken clay pots by the bench they were sitting on. Newt nodded to indicate that he had knocked it down to a reasonable level again. 

“I think we’re close to getting this settled. While you’re getting milk and stuff, can you bring us some paper and we can make some diagrams and write up a nice contract and get this done. I don’t want an actual written one, just in case Hell does get clever, but then we can read from it and shake on a verbal one. Yeah?” 

Newt nodded and headed off to search for requested items. Tea was fetched first. One cup of tea was made to Aziraphale’s liking and one to Crowley’s. Aziraphale’s was about the same color as his usual coat from the amount of cream in it. Crowley’s was extra black as he’d requested black treacle in his since alcohol seemed a poor idea right now, which Anathema was mildly horrified at. They only messed up switching cups between fronting once, leaving Aziraphale with Crowley’s tea which was pronounced “less terrible than I was expecting.” 

It did give them a bit of a pause as it hammered home some of the reality of sharing long term. They did have different tastes. While their current company seemed to have adjusted to them carrying on a conversation with them and each other at the same time, they could hardly do the same at a restaurant. The same held true for a great many other public activities they’d shared over the years. There might be some appeal to sharing the exact same sensory experience of the world while filtering it through their own separate experiences, but there wouldn’t be quite the same ebb and flow of conversation they had built their relationship on. Their experiences as separate individuals had honed them into people willing to share something so intimate, so personal, as sharing a singular body. But in doing so, would cease being able to accrue those separate and complimentary experiences. There was a great deal of reassurance in being one, and for a while they would still be learning things about each other, eventually they would be one in body and mind, accruing all future experiences as a singular being. 

“Was the aftertaste that bad?” Anathema’s tone indicated she wasn’t actually asking about the tea. She’d taken hers straight black. 

“Mmm, no, just things are now calm enough that some things we’d put off thinking about are coming back to mind.” Aziraphale tried for a reassuring smile “Nothing of relevance to what we’re doing here right now.” 

“You’re sure?” Anathema’s hand hovered like she wanted to give them some kind of reassurance. 

“Not sure about much of anything since a lot of things that were supposed to happen didn’t, and things that should never happen, did. This, doing this for you two, this we can at least be sure of. Big fans of telling our bosses to fuck off.” 

“ _Crowley._ ” 

Anathema snorted. “I noticed.” 

Crowley grinned. “He should have told off his boss years ago. What a wanker.” 

“Crowley….” The tone didn’t sound like it disagreed with assessment at all, but was trying to be polite. 

Newt returned from Dick Turpin with the contents of his desk that had never made it out of the car after he’d been fired. Which conveniently provided them with enough writing implements, paper, and hard surfaces to write on to finally get to hammering out details. Newt handed them two sets to work with. 

“Now then, we went over general terms earlier, tell me anything else you think should be included in the contract, anything at all…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got ridiculously long so New Year's Day, part two! The International Express Man catches up with them! A not-very-demonic pact is struck. Is Crowley very, very good at being a demon or very, very bad at it? why not both!
> 
> also, yes, I *am* the monster that puts black treacle/molasses in black tea. Its my go to for "i am not up to eating, but I need something more substantial than just tea".


	6. Signature required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The international Express Man finally catches up with them and gives Aziraphale a bit of a crisis of faith.
> 
> Crowley has entirely too good a time and might actually be making ~~fiends~~ friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, best demon or worst demon? Sneaky demon either way!

“Anything” turned out to be mostly very practical things that better defined exactly what they were doing or _not_ doing. They settled on repairing and improving the house wards to incorporate Adam’s existing protection of Tadfield. It seemed like the best way to demonstrate the effect to Anathema so she could duplicate it on a smaller, more portable scale. Much of the rest was going round with her making sure she understood the fundamentals of HOW the effect worked, but Newt was picking at the weird edge conditions of possible unintended consequences. Newt brought up that strengthening the wards on the house to incorporate Adam’s power might affect Adam’s ability to come in which prompted Anathema to mention he _had_ been in the house before which led to another round of redesigns. Crowley seemed quite delighted by the whole process, which was concerning Newt and resulting in Aziraphale occasionally scolding Crowley for making him worry. 

“He’d just excited by design work where you understand what he’s doing and ask helpful questions. He’s not actually plotting.” 

“I am too plotting!” 

“Against all of Heaven and Hell, not these two.” 

“Still counts as plotting.” 

They were very nearly done with write up when they were interrupted by a vehicle pulling up by gate. 

“Hello chaps, I’ve got a pick up scheduled. Was a bit of a trick tracking you two down.” The fellow looked mundane enough, but there was a faint whiff of something supernatural about him and the clipboard he carried had obvious sigil on the paperwork. Though whose it was wasn’t immediately obvious. 

“Who’s this?” Anathema looked like she was considering tossing him out of the garden on general principle. 

“A messenger of sorts.” Crowley was uneasy at being tracked down at all, but this really wasn’t Hell’s style. 

“Let me see, please.” Aziraphale held out their hand to have the clipboard passed to him. Both of them looked at the paperwork which was a pickup for the Horseman’s items. There wasn’t a full name on the authorization, else a mortal couldn’t have looked at it, but enough of a **NAME** to be clear who had signed it. Aziraphale frowned at it and Crowley could feel a complex roil of emotions there at how everything had apparently been laid out ahead of time. Ineffable Plan indeed. 

Crowley noticed something and had a brief moment of indecision before directing eyes to stare at the information that the order had been placed in the middle of this afternoon. Aziraphale stared at the time trying to place it in the chaotic timeline of the day. It was sometime after he’d been discorporated but before Armageddon had ended. Was that related to what they had done? To something else entirely? They were both genuinely unsure. They hadn’t thought to look at watch past a certain point as everything was going along at such a breakneck speed that time hadn’t mattered. And now it very much _did_. 

“This says you’re supposed to pick up a sword as well. We don’t have that anymore.” Aziraphale was done hiding. 

“But you did?” 

“For a bit. Not when this order was issued... “ Aziraphale shook his head. “The one that issued this should know where it is now if they want it back.” 

“Well, I’ll have to call back to dispatch after I pick up the other two and see what they want then. Can you sign for those two?” 

Aziraphale was torn on handing them back over as they would likely be required to start another war, looked back down at the **NAME** on the order. 

“A moment, please.” 

They closed their eyes and put their hands over their face so the other people there wouldn’t be able to watch all the various expressions pass over their face as they had internal discussion. This was a very direct order that they couldn’t actually completely fulfill even if they wanted. Maybe they could reach back into that pocket of time-out-of-time and find the sword, but it was just as likely gone. Putting it down had meant something. It was a _choice_. The order was from before that. Had they already disobeyed? Had it somehow NOT been part of the plan? Which then implied the plan wasn’t entirely set. That the writer was not omniscient and that was a terrifying thing to contemplate. Aziraphale had lied so long ago about where his sword had gone and never been called on it. It had gnawed at him off and on for millenia. He’d lied about its whereabouts and got away with it. Or it had been what he was supposed to do all along. Had he also been supposed to lie about it? Either option was equally terrifying that the lies were equally part of the plan or that he had actually successfully lied to God. Which then led to thought that either God had never found out he’d lied and thought he had the sword this whole time or had found out and never said anything. Gabriel and the quartermaster had certainly thought he still had it… so if God knew, she hadn’t shared. She’d kept his secret. Every thought he chased after led to more questions about what was true, and they were becoming ever more terrifying. 

Crowley was mostly silent, letting Aziraphale cycle through all his thoughts and doubts before giving him a slight nudge that they now needed to decide what they were going to do. Crowley hated not knowing, but Aziraphale had never actually figured out the answer to most of these in all these millenia, so he certainly wasn’t going to while sitting in a totally different garden. The whole ineffable part ate at Crowley just as much, but they were never going to get to be omniscient so couldn’t try and make choices as if they were. They had a lot more experiences to rest their choices on than any mortal, but this was still clearly some kind of _choice_. 

Crowley directed Aziraphale’s mind back towards asking the questions they could answer. Should they give the two items they could return to the messenger? They couldn’t do a damn thing about the sword, so ignore it. This was effectively a direct order, to hand them over. It just came down to did he think the order still stood or had it been issued without knowledge of exactly how things would turn out? That the sword was included in the return order indicated things, perhaps, had not been entirely decided ahead of time. 

“Gentlemen?” 

“ **THINKING.** ” They could hear the sound of one of the tea cups break at joined voice and a quick flick of power knit it back together. 

That God hadn’t had perfect knowledge of the eventual outcome was a terrifying possibility. Perhaps this was just a leftover hedged bet? Did God play all the odds at once? Was there no fixed outcome other than one of the bets always paid off since the house was the one both placing them and paying them? God could never lose or win as she was playing against Herself. What part of the game was this? 

They were now the new team as Hell and Heaven were very clearly Not Happy with them. They were both kind of terrible at team sports but it turned out Heaven and Hell may not have been playing a sport at all. They thought they’d been having a hurling match and it turned out they were actually playing some kind of German board game involving worker placement and card drafting where half the cards were mistranslated. Not that they had any better clue as to what was actually being played, other than they didn’t know. Asking about the rules hadn’t gone over well either. 

Which left them cycling back to what to do about the items in their possession. 

Could they actually be used to kick off Armageddon again? Or partially restart it? Possibly. They could certainly cause a great deal of misery if left free in the world. Would returning them leave them in Heaven’s hands? That the order had been issued at all before Armageddon and left in the hands of a human, indicated that Heaven’s bureaucracy didn’t know about it as there would have been no one to retrieve them and nowhere to fetch them from. But if they were left out in the world, both sides almost certainly would try to seize them. No place would truly be somewhere they could be hidden forever. 

Keeping them seemed an equally terrible option as Heaven and Hell would likely be right after them if they realized they had them. And they were already in the position of all of them were against the two of them and their survival prospects were frankly not good right now. 

However… that did spawn a brief thought that there were TWO items left, which might be used as bargaining chips. If each side had one, you reached equilibrium as neither could use it without the other doing so… of course they’d just tried to kick off Armageddon using nuclear weapons held in that exact same belief of mutually assured destruction being a deterrent, and stopped by the people they’d been having tea with, so they quickly discarded that idea. 

Perhaps this was all just a rerun of the original issue with the sword, what would you do with it? Had giving it away been the right choice? How had it ended up at Armageddon? Of course Aziraphale couldn’t have known at the time that it would end up there at the end. Perhaps God had. Perhaps she hadn’t. But Aziraphale had made a decision based on what he knew at the time, which was the best he could do. And that seemed to be right where they were. They'd gone through the likely outcomes they could foresee if they didn’t give it back, all of which were some variety of Bad. The one they couldn’t see could be just as bad, or worse, but it could be the right one. It was the Ineffable one and it would have to do. 

They dragged hands over their face and gave the International Express Man a very, very tired look. “We’ll both sign for them.” 

“I only need one signature.” 

“We’ll both sign.” 

“As you like then.” 

They handed over the box with the crown and the scales and took the clipboard in their lap. Aziraphale gripped the offered pen in one hand, letting Crowley sort out the other hand so they could sign at the same time. Aziraphale used a mortal instrument dear to his heart to sketch out a sigil that hopefully wouldn’t drive the poor human mad. Crowley used their other hand to make the burning sigil of his own with a simple smear of finger. It was easier to write than Aziraphale’s as it was merely the impression of his previous name held in his mind’s eye, completely blotted out by the physical mark. The name was not actually seen physically, just its erasure. But holding that name in his mindseye meant Aziraphale nearly stopped his own signature at suddenly getting to _See_ Crowley. 

“Gimme the pen so I can print under it.” Having finished the occult version, the dead name was banished back into the depths of memory. No memories of what went with it offered, just the name itself, devoid of context other than it was _no longer him_. 

Aziraphale finished the sigil, printed his name neatly and passed pen to their other hand and Crowley neatly printed “Anthony J.” under his own sigil. Aziraphale smiled slightly at that, focusing on the current name as what mattered. He could feel Crowley, _Anthony_ , relax slightly, and more so at the correction to the most current name. 

“Well then, that’s that. Can’t help you with the sword. Quite sorry.” Aziraphale wasn’t, but he was at least polite. 

“No help for it if you don’t have it. Just have to wait for dispatch to sort it out and send new paperwork. Have yourself a nice night, gentlemen.” There was a touch of hat and he headed off through the gate to take some world ending artifacts… somewhere ineffable. 

“What’s going to happen with those?” Anathema watched the little vehicle leave. 

“They’ll be put away somewhere. For as long as needed. Hopefully forever.” Crowley was worried about how long that might truly be, but there was not much else they could do. 

“More tea wouldn’t be amiss.” Aziraphale looked at the empty cup and Newt hopped up to make another pot. He may not have been able to do anything else about all the things going on, but he could definitely make tea. 

“I think we’re getting close to done.” Crowley turned attention back to his pile of design notes. “You can have these as is. They’ll probably be more useful unedited as you can see all the variations and troubleshoot. I just need to clean up the actual contract text to something tight enough to hold, but not so long as to give too much info to anyone reading it off you later.” 

Aziraphale had another cup of tea and discussed some more details with Anathema with their corporation's eyes firmly on paper as Crowley scribbled away. Though at one point he made an overenthusiastic hand gesture that drew pen all the way across the page. 

“I was using that.” 

“Sorry, dear.” 

Conversation resumed for a bit and was interrupted with an exasperated “Anthony. I am paying _some_ attention.” 

“Just making sure you’re holding up your part of the bargain on keeping me on neutral behavior.” 

“What was he trying to put in there?” from Anathema 

“He was opting for a kiss instead of a handshake as a seal.” Aziraphale frowned. “Not that you aren’t lovely individuals, but well, not exactly my type.” 

Face twisted into a much more wicked look as Crowley could pick up that it was less they weren’t his type so much as Crowley was _his_. Possessive even while possessing Crowley in every possible way! The grin just got bigger. 

“For a verbal only formal contract there should be some exchange of, let's go with essence, so you carry the contract clearly as part of you. Pressing wounds together is another traditional one, but I’m not as sure how that would work with two of us in here. Also, _gross_. Since kissing is off table, also slightly awkward with three bodies, we can just pass around a cup.” 

“We’ve already been sharing tea.” Newt looked at the cup suspiciously, like mistakes had been made. 

“If I had been being a sneaky demon, I might have bled in the pot we were sharing. Which I didn’t because, _gross_ , and that’s not what we agreed on up front. It would have made you more agreeable, but it’s not a full pact since I’m not actually then _exchanging_ with you. It’s only half signed then but Hell’s unlikely to audit it then as you likely overpaid for my services. Just don’t go thinking cause you negotiated with one demon, we’re all easy.” 

“If this works, you should be the only demon we see.” Anathema pointedly poured another cup of tea for herself. 

“That’s the goal.” There was briefly blending of voice as they were in full agreement on that point. 

“But to properly share a cup, I mean we actually drink from the same vessel. Passing back and forth bottle of alcohol is also traditional, but the same cup of tea will work as well. At least one round all the way around and back to me. I should be one that begins and ends it for best results.” Crowley enjoyed the little squirm from Aziraphale at the pass the bottle part. They’d drunk from each other’s cup a great many times. What exactly had he agreed to over the years? Nothing that compared in any way to sharing a body. 

“Here, I think this is as concise and precise as I can get a verbal contract without it running on so long that it becomes impossible for us all to repeat clearly.” 

Aziraphale took sunglasses off so he could read properly. The combination of darkness and Crowley’s sloppier than normal handwriting was too much for him to try and make sense of through the dark lenses just yet. That would come with practice. He read aloud for the others: 

“The demon Crowley is to provide one blessing using the excess power released by the Antichrist in the wake of Armgeddon as a demonstration of the manipulation of leylines, a subject he is uniquely qualified to provide tutoring in, to Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer. This lesson will include a set of notes and a visible demonstration to them of the miracle being done. The blessing will repair the wards on the location known as Jasmine Cottage so that they may again keep uninvited occult and ethereal creatures out of the house or from destroying the house, including the demon Crowley. Payment was made to the demon Crowley in the form of a beverage and earthly favor, in this case transportation assistance, of a value consistent with the value established in previous written contracts filed in Hell regarding tutoring.” 

“If it’s also keeping out ethereal creatures, it should also specify I’m kept out.” Aziraphale had a point but Crowley didn’t have to like it. 

“You’re not a demon, so I’m not sure you should be specifically named on my demonic contract.” 

“We’re sharing, so I think it’s _ours_.” Before they could have a whole argument about that, Newt cut in. 

“I’m not a fan of it referring to written contracts we can’t see.”<br> “Not my favorite either, but here’s certain rules to how these sort of contracts work. I’ve got an established going rate for this type of service. I don’t like Dagon, demon y’know, but she’s got an extremely accurate record of what previous tutoring contracts cost, that Hell approved those previous ones, and that this is in line with those. So if this ever gets challenged, this little callback that I’ve got an established rate this can be compared to, Dagon’s gonna actually back that up and you should be fine. Hell’s going to be annoyed, but will have to admit it’s been paid correctly.” 

“Even with the whole traitor thing?” Anathema was giving them a look. 

“That's a good portion of why we’re even bothering with this contract. Insurance. There’s still an argument to be made, and oh, that’s exactly the sort of technicality Hell likes, that I am doing Hell’s bidding right now and it incurs a debt. Even if I’m not around to collect it, Hell sure is. A verbal contract, another demon that tries a working on you, that will reveal the contract to them. Which they should hopefully never be in a position to find, but this is the exact reason we’re not doing written because that sends a copy to Hell, which tells them exactly what it was. They’re still going to be mad about the assistance if they ever find out, but there’s no inherent debt there. They can’t twist it as an unpaid debt and demand soul payment. And as mad as they might be about it, just killing you without knowing where you’re bound, that just sends you to the appropriate place. So if down the line, their eyes do fall on you, they’re more likely to spend their time trying to figure out where you’re bound for and if you’re not Hell bound, they’ll try and tempt you. Most likely by negotiating a new contract because you already negotiated with a demon once, so are more likely to do it again and can then end up in their ledgers that way.” 

“Some demons are just nasty, nasty pieces of work and go straight to the murder, which is who we’re really trying to turn away from you, but that gets them reprimanded if they killed someone that didn’t end up in Hell’s hands, because they could have spent that time arranging that.” 

Anathema and Newt stared at them for a moment, trying to absorb all that information. It was all very well to negotiate with a demon, but this did very much bring up a lot of philosophical questions right there that made it rather obvious why Crowley got summoned for philosophical chats in the first place. That he’d also included in the negotiation itself a lesson on how to negotiate with demons, didn’t escape Aziraphale’s notice. 

“If it is any help, he is being truthful about the contract. His going rate for tutoring” and there was a smile at that “makes no claim upon your souls.” 

“No point in tutoring you if you’re immediately doomed by it. Never liked that. I may not have known that was going to happen the first time, bloody overreaction, but I know the rules now, so I can make sure you don’t get punished just for asking questions. If you go to Hell, it's because you took that information and then made terrible, terrible life choices.” 

“Hang on, first time? I thought we were square.” Anathema was eyeing him. 

“Not you. First time, first time. Eve, serpent, tree of knowledge and good and evil. It was a whole thing.” 

“Wait , wait, as in the Garden of Eden?” 

“Hi, I’m a snake. _The_ snake.” 

“Wasn’t that the Devil? And wasn’t he at the airbase?” Newt looked just like when he was getting back on solid footing, Crowley had yanked the rug out from under him. 

Crowley made a hand motion like he was dismissing the whole thing. “Common mistake. He takes credit for way more than what he actually did.” 

“You don’t look like a snake.” Newt was looking them over. 

Crowley gestured at their corporation “Remember, this is just a container. Not actually human. Or human shaped. I’d have thought the eyes would have been a tip off.” Crowley very much wanted to put glasses back on, but in the darkness, Aziraphale found them too dark to read or write in and he’d need to see to be able to edit things. 

“Well the color changing eyes don’t exactly say _snake_ specifically.” 

“Color changing?” Now Crowley got to be the one wrongfooted. “They’re supposed to be yellow!” He leaned in toward Newt. “What are they now?” 

“Almost white, from the glow. But they were brownish when you got in the car, then were blue or green when you got in to sit behind me. I remember seeing them in the mirror while I was adjusting it.” 

“Shitshitshit. Hang on.” They concentrated to send power back to the ley line, straightening out a complicated backwash of effects overwriting each other. A great lot of fish that had fallen out of the sky found themselves back in a nearby stream. They blinked for a moment. “We can’t actually see anything but each other in a mirror. What do our eyes look like?” 

“Stop squirming so I can actually look at you.” Aziraphale laced their hands together and sat them up straight to look directly at Anathema. 

She stared at their face and tilted her head up and down a little to see past faint reflection off their eyes. “A yellow ring around the outside of the iris which is a bunch of different blues. It’s very dramatic.” 

“What are the pupils like?” from Crowley, anxiety pouring through his voice. 

“Weird. Your eyes just started to shift color too, you’ve got sort of radial lines around the pupil. They’re sort of dark amber, brownish right now, extending into blues. Your pupils are kind of uneven, sort of angular.” 

“They’re normally slit.” This did rather explain why Hastur had reacted as he had. 

“Well that’s not what they look like right now. They’re kind of a spiky oval? Would you stop squirming, _honestly_.” Anathema looked like she might reach out to hold their head still. Aziraphale closed eyes for a moment and blatantly wiggled in the seat before putting hands firmly on thighs and digging nails in a bit, so any squirming would be immediately obvious and they’d stop. 

“Irises have gone back to mostly blue, though the whites are now totally yellow. “ 

“The whites vanish normally when he gets anxious.” 

“I’m not…” 

“ _Dear._ ” 

“I’m just worried for you.” 

“I’m quite fine since you’re here.” Aziraphale was quite matter of fact about it and it calmed Crowley down quite a bit. 

“It might be going back and forth between which of you is speaking? It doesn’t change instantly when you’re arguing. I didn’t think to pay attention to that earlier.” 

“Let me shift and see if that changes things. Watch close.“ Anathema and Newt were watching face intently and it was rather unnerving to be observed that closely by humans. Crowley shifted internally, becoming a snake around Aziraphale’s shoulders once more. From the expressions on the humans’ faces, they’d clearly seen _something_. Newt mostly looked perplexed, Anathema had flinched at either having seen more clearly or having better comprehension of what she was seeing. 

“The whites are back to being white and iris is a sort of hazel. It’s more blue than green. There’s a bit of yellow shot through. The pupils are still weird.” 

“Those may just be mine now. They’re a little variable based on the lighting. Crowley’s are naturally gold.” 

“Yellow” 

“ _Gold_. They’re quite lovely.” 

“You’re not helping by arguing.” Anathema tried to look stern at them, but she couldn’t be too mad about what they were arguing about. 

“Let me speak for a bit _uninterrupted_ and we’ll see if that changes anything. Now I’m in a position where my head doesn’t line up with the corporation's head exactly, Aziraphale’s still does. You clearly saw something when I shifted, what?” 

“I believe you about the snake now.” There was a thread of unease in Anathema's voice. 

“So you can see us move underneath this?” Crowley gestured at the region around his throat and shoulders. He coiled a little tighter around Aziraphale, who placed his hand on him without actually moving their corporation. 

“If I hadn’t been specifically watching for something, I likely wouldn’t have seen it. You look reasonably human. I know you’re not, so I knew something was going to happen. I think you can pass so long as you don’t do whatever it was you did a minute ago in front of people.” 

“Aziraphale, if you could, so we know what will be seen or not.” Aziraphale did a slight shift of both sets of their wings, not actually bringing them into reality or pulling them entirely out of corporation, merely extending them slightly while he got them sorted into a more comfortable position with regards to Crowley’s serpent form. 

Anathema was definitely looking at the partially extended wings. “You did that before. When you were talking to Adam at the base.” 

“Yes. We were specifically letting him see how we folded together in here. Didn’t think it was visible to anyone else.” Aziraphale finished resettling them and Anathema returned to looking at eyes. 

Newt was definitely squinting. “If you have wings, couldn’t you fly back to London?” 

“No. I… you Fall you don’t get back up.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” 

Crowley made a quick hand motion “You couldn’t know and it’s a reasonable enough question.” Though also a good question why Aziraphale hadn’t suggested it either. Who was being _very_ silent right now. A quick, firm _later_ got Crowley to move on. “I’ve had a long time to get used to it. But you could see that as well?” 

“Sort of?” Newt wrinkled his nose, trying to find a way to describe it. “It was like seeing a reflection of something behind you while opening a glass door. All fragmented and you only catch bits of it. So I think only when you were in motion. I didn’t see what you did clearly before that because it was fast but I knew you were about to do something.” 

“Sounds like that shouldn’t be visible most of the time then. Don’t go twisting about in front of witches and we should be fine.” 

“Your eyes have stayed relatively consistent while you’ve been talking. The pupils are still weird, but the eye color is within normal human colors right now.” 

“Seems like you may get to wear me like a scarf when we go out then, angel.” That they might be able to go out without it attracting too much attention was a bit of a relief. It still didn’t address the talking to each other in public issue, but they could likely do it silently with practice. They just needed to not make faces while doing so. 

“If it’s just the pupils that look odd, clear lenses may suffice to distract people at night.” 

“Not sure how I feel about people seeing my eyes. Today’s been an odd day. You’re usually the only one that gets to see them.” 

“Well that would seem to be my eyes while we’re in this configuration, but if you’d like to keep them to yourself, I can certainly get used to the sunglasses with practice.” 

“If you two are done flirting…” Anathema just seemed mildly exasperated with them. 

“Ngk” They were definitely turning colors. 

“Yes, back to task.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s distraction as a good time to make some adjustments to the written script for the contract they’d read. 

“More agreeable?” 

“Anthony J. Crowley is to provide one tutoring session on the manipulation of leylines, a subject he is uniquely qualified to provide tutoring in, to Anathema Device and Newton Pulsifer. This lesson will include a set of written notes and a visible demonstration of their application by means of altering the structure of command sent to the leylines by the Antichrist in the wake of Armageddon. The demonstration will repair the wards on the location the contract was negotiated at so that they may again keep uninvited occult and ethereal creatures out of the house or from destroying the house, including Anthony J. Crowley and Aziraphale, who was present to witness the contract. Payment was made to Anthony J. Crowley in the form of a beverage and earthly favor, in this case assisting in transporting his corporation, which is consistent with the value established in previous written contracts, filed by Anthony J. Crowley under this or any of his prior names regarding tutoring and approved by those supervising him at the time of filing.” 

“I still don’t like the reference to other written contracts, but I guess it’s like case law now. This sounds very much like a business contract or a will.” Newt was making a slight face at it, but seemed to accept the new wording as the best they could do. 

Crowley wanted to object to Aziraphale’s name being included at all, but listing him as witness definitely improved the contract. He was simultaneously confused and touched by Aziraphale having reworded it such that if you didn’t know which of them was which, there was no indication of which of them was the occult vs ethereal creature. The “approved by those supervising him at the time of filing” was a prime bit of bastarding he’d wished he’d thought of himself, but really was just such a passive aggressive fuck you to bosses, it was all Aziraphale. 

“You look real chuffed by it again.” Newt seemed less concerned by it, but still had a respectful amount of suspicion, which just made Crowley even more pleased. 

“He’s such a magnificent _bastard_ with that last bit.” 

Aziraphale huffed, but then wiggled and Anathema was trying not to laugh at them. Newt smiled a bit at it as well. 

“I think that’s as good as we’re going to get without overworking it. Get your fanciest looking cup and let’s seal this pact. We could use the mugs we already have, but it just works better with something that looks the part.” 

Newt went in search of something that looked fancier than the mugs, which proved a little more challenging than anticipated as Anathema didn’t actually own that much dishware. Newt finally ended up rooting around in the box from his desk and found a sleek metal travel mug, the sort usually marketed to men as ‘tactical gear’, with black rubber gripping on it than literally said “your logo here” on it. A little miracle replaced that with a snake reminiscent of Crowley’s tattoo, though it looked suspiciously like it was also wearing sunglasses. 

“Read it over one more time and practice aloud at least once so you don’t stumble over it. It not actually matching can make it not stick properly and I don’t want to lay another one on top of one we fucked up.” 

Crowley poured tea in their ‘ceremonial’ travel mug. He made a show of putting black treacle in it, stirring it very formally. One stir a full counterclockwise rotation and then he rested his hand on top of the mug for a moment before repeating the stirring process while apparently saying something under breath. 

Aziraphale was aware Crowley was actually putting hand over top to check if it was too hot, but was making a show of it to impress on the two something was about to happen. The sharing and the intent was all that was necessary to seal it, but this very clearly steered them towards getting them in headspace where intent would be clear. The formality wasn’t necessary but it also _was_ very much necessary. 

Crowley for his part was actually doing something, letting some more of demon bleed through to human corporation without actually shapeshifting or pulling wings out. Aziraphale was fascinated by the whole process and tried to be as out of the way as possible since who knew what would bleed through with letting his true form show. Though it was mostly humanlike, it was just enough off true human to be unsettling in its wrongness. Pulling wings out actually usually improved things as it clearly marked him as not human, and thus humans stopped trying to assume he was and picking at subtle little bits of wrongness. Crowley was unsettling in an entirely different manner and was clearly going for emphasizing exactly that right now. He ran forked tongue over much sharper teeth, adjusting them slightly so they had a shallow groove to let poison wick along them rather than being completely hollow. It would require a full, solid, bite to deliver a killing dose of actual poison. This would just convey a faint hint of that essense in the shared cup to let them see what he was doing without causing them any lasting damage. 

“Ready?” 

“As we’re going to get.” 

Crowley took a sip from the mug, letting faint little hints of venom backwash into tea. Then he read aloud from the written agreement feeling a faint little thrill at ‘Anthony J. Crowley’ working as his name to start the process. Aziraphale’s own name came out in a blend of both their voices. There was a distinctly different feel to that, indicating Aziraphale’s role as witness rather than executor. The contact hung open for now, not yet signed by the other participants. 

Crowley passed hand over the mug and looked at Anathema. “Do you Anathema Device accept these terms?” 

“Yes.” He gestured with one hand to have her lean forward and drink from the cup. He tilted it carefully so as to not make her choke. Having a handle on this was a lot easier than the various times he’d had to use ornate, slippery chalices. He could feel a little jolt back as she swallowed and he took a split second to determine if that was enough before tilting it back. 

“Repeat to me the terms to signal your agreement.” He handed her the written copy to read from and could feel a power surge between them at connection of names. 

“Do you Newton Pulsifer accept these terms?” 

There was that brief hesitation before the “yes.” He leaned forward as Crowley tipped the cup for him and Newton made a face at it. Crowley could feel a little back jolt of the old family curse there trying to push away at the pact, so tipped the cup further. Newt had to take a second swallow or choke. 

“Repeat the terms to me to signal your agreement.” As Newt finished up reading they could feel the pact curling together into a nice firm shape, no conspicuously loose edges indicating something had been done wrong. Crowley chugged down the rest of the tea. 

“Then our pact is sealed and our witness shall see that it is fulfilled!” There was a distinct pull to do what he’d agreed to now. He handed the extensive notes on what he’d be doing to Anathema, who was staring at him. He had to shove them into her hands before she took them. Just that took a little of the urgency off. He shifted back to a more human form in corporation and cracked knuckles to remind himself of how hands worked, then rolled his neck in a manner more befitting Aziraphale. 

Newt was also starring and took his glasses off, wiped them on his shirt and then put them back on. Repeated, like it would somehow make it better. 

“It’ll fade after I fix the wards. It’s NOT permanent. That’d drive you nuts.” 

“I think I already have a headache.” Anathema definitely had brows furrowed like she did. 

“If I might make a suggestion?” from Aziraphale. “Take your glasses off. It may eliminate some of the conflict between what you’re seeing and what you’re not exactly seeing but perceiving in an alternate method but have no reference for other than as sight.” 

Newt and Anathema took glasses off, sticking them in pockets. There was still a tendency to try and focus on actual objects while the brain was frantically trying to make sense of other presences, but it seemed to have cut down on some of the squinting. 

Anathema relaxed quicker as she had at least some familiarity with perceiving ley lines and other sources of power, just not usually without need of a device to interpret that information through. Newt just looked bewildered, but that seemed to be his default state, so probably was okay. 

Crowley focused on the cottage and the surroundings. They’d gotten the general tenor of surrounding ley lines while they’d been sitting there, but now needed to draw the human’s attention to what to actually observe. 

“Overall nice bit of work, just run down over the years as pieces were replaced, broken down with time. So with command in ley lines to return things as they were, just going a bit older with “return to how they were.” 

They didn’t need to make a gesture to do things, but as the point was to make it visible to the humans, Crowley opted for making obvious hand gestures to direct her attention. He pulled in from the nearby line that ran through the road. It was not especially powerful under normal circumstances, but had more than enough power in it right now due to the Antichrist draining power off himself and pushing it away. He drew it in through the break at the iron fence gate that he could faintly feel Antichrist had come through at some point, snapping the aged iron buried beneath it that had held the gate square. He took the trail from that break and drew hand around to restore the old fence and knock all the corrosion off, restoring many tiny breaks in it so it once more made a horseshoe around the whole property. He made sure the Antichrist’s own signature was rolled around the fence so it would be no impediment to Adam and not be disturbed by his regular comings and goings. He rolled it around the perimeter several times and let it leak out at the opening in the hedge, returning back to the main line. 

He let that settle and then drew in from the road again, sending it the opposite way around, directed at the hedge that mostly followed the fence, but had grown scraggly at points. The main arching horseshoe topiary over the entryway was overall in great condition, but the earlier tornado had torn some leaves off it. Crowley was very tempted to yell at it to shape up, but it wouldn’t stay terrorized of either of the cottage’s occupants, so nudged Aziraphale to give him a hand in getting it grow wildly out of hand, shooting off roots in all directions and firmly tangling together individual bushes into a living barrier that would withstand any amount of attention from Sister Slug and neglect from inept gardeners. The sprawling underground root system drew power straight from the ley line and drew in some of the Antichrist’s misdirection that turned away eyes from it. 

“Now then, so you can see how this ward actually works, this is going to be a bit unpleasant for me…” Crowley backed up so he was standing under the arch of the hedge, not quite outside the perimeter, but close. He focused on a scraggly perennial by the house and cursing it to wither and die, then reached downward to pull power up from Hell. The attempt broke the power against the curve of the horseshoe above the door. The power then reflected back through the surrounding iron curve of the fence and shoved him right out of the opening at the gate so he fell on his ass. 

“Are you okay?” from Newt. 

Crowley gave them a thumbs up. “Meant to do that.” 

“Maybe not the falling over part.” from Aziraphale. 

“Okay maybe not that part. Got a real good kickback. If I’d really gone for something drawing a lot of power, I likely would have gotten flung across the road.” 

They scrambled back to their feet and looked over handywork. “Now, that should have uninvited us.” They came back to the entryway and could feel a distinct bit of pressure building as they got closer to it. It wasn’t actual physical damage or pain as with a consecrated ground, more an increasing pressure that made them want to turn away and continue on down the road, following the flow of power in the ley line away from here. Nothing to see here. This is not the cottage you were looking for. 

“If you want to invite us back in, take my hand and walk me over the threshold here.” 

“What about the metal gate?” Anathema looked over at the gate Adam had come through. 

“Use it for human guests only. Adam should be fine as well, but can’t hurt to ask him to use the main one.” 

Anathema came back to the archway and eyed them for a moment. Newt came up behind her. “What would happen if you tried to shove one of us through the gate with your hand on our shoulder or tried to carry us?” 

“I’d shove you or drop you on me. It’s an invitation, not an electronic starter for a car.” Newt seemed satisfied with that. 

Newt reached out a hand to guide Crowley back into the garden and Crowley could feel the force dissipate on him. He took a step forward and could feel Aziraphale recoil, actual pain radiating through his chest as if it had been struck and they almost fell over backwards again. Newt had stepped forward as they started to collapse, shooting arm under their opposite shoulder to keep them upright. 

“Fuck. Give us a minute. Need to take both of us.” Crowley managed to get feet back under them with Newt’s awkward help, who then quickly released their shoulder since it had brought him practically nose to nose with Crowley. Aziraphale took a moment to recover and take control of one hand like when they’d been writing earlier. Crowley held out one hand and Aziraphale the other. Newt looked at each hand for a moment, taking in the stiffer hand Crowley held out with pinky separated from the other three fingers vs Aziraphale’s softly half curled fingers that said each was being used by a different person. He took both hands firmly, ready to take weight if they fell over again. 

They stepped forward through the living horseshoe and this time nothing happened, just a brief feeling of having passed a boundary of some sort. 

“Seen enough or do we need to eject Aziraphale out the front gate as a demonstration?” 

“Please let’s not.” 

“I see how it all fits together now. I’m pretty sure I can make a token from the hedge when we trim them that will let me carry some of the effect with me.” 

“Or me.” Newt looked at them for a moment, considering. “Or anyone else we give one to?” 

Crowley made an over exaggerated face. “Shouldn’t trust demons. Verbal contracts are always just so riddled with loopholes…” Newt very cautiously smiled at him and got a grin back ‘til they were both grinning like idiots. 

“Just don’t get too clever, that’s how you get yourself in trouble, and I am a _master_ of that. I’d really prefer this one not do that, yeah?” 

“Yes. We still owe you a phone or a ride.” 

“Go see if we have the phone working then.” 

“We can also see if you can come in the house now that you’ve been invited, or you need a second invite to come in.” from Anathema. 

“I may need a second one as the horseshoe is on the house rather than the outer perimeter. Both versions should keep out approaches from above or below. No surprise basement demons or angels landing on your roof, though I’m not sure how far it extends. They shouldn’t even realize this is here most of the time.” 

Newt put glasses back on so he could go inside in search of the phone. He popped back out a moment later “We have a dial tone!” 

“Thank someone I don’t have to ride in your car again.” 

“Do you want to come inside and use our phone or do we need to carry it in the yard?” 

“Might as well find out.” 

Crowley could feel vague pressure from horseshoe, starting to register as pain, though Aziraphale didn’t seem to be having any similar reaction. “Second invite, I think.” 

Anathema took him by the elbow and guided him onto the porch, carefully watching to see if Aziraphale needed a second invitation as well. 

“Lovely home.” Aziraphale had been quiet through much of this, observing just as much as their two hosts were. But the prospect of jumping through the phone was now imminent and he seemed inclined to delay just a little bit by making polite goodbyes to settle nerves. There was the requisite go round of Newt offering one more cup of tea before they left, Aziraphale declining, and another round of goodbyes before Crowley took the phone. 

Crowley pressed the phone to ear and rang his own flat, head cocked slightly as he listened to the ancient answering machine, judging the quality of the signal before actually committing to it. He hung up and looked over at the two. 

“Don’t hang up the phone until we respond to you on the other end. Not exactly sure where I’d end up, but it would be a bit of a pain. Leaving the line open gives me a chance to come back if it failed. Once we’re back at the flat, you should feel the contract complete then.” 

He shifted internally again and saw Anathema make a face at that, though not nearly as shocked as the first time. Apparently she was getting used to this level of weirdness. He curled himself around Aziraphale, wrapping himself firmly about his neck and waist, tail looped around his thigh. This seemed to relax Aziraphale a bit, that Crowley was making sure to have a firm hold. 

Crowley redialed and then made the jump as soon as it started dialing. They could hear faint yelp from Newt as they vanished. Aziraphale tensed up at the jump, but went along with it, submitting to it as he had with the earlier minor shapeshifting. This was a far more involved shift with adjusting scale so dramatically, but by the end of all this, Aziraphale was likely going to have a lot more skills at his disposal. Crowley was focused on the transit and keeping them on course but could faintly pick up that Aziraphale thought he was getting the better end of this deal somehow. Clearly his deal with his demon was working out well. Crowley gave him a distinct squeeze at that ‘his’. 

Crowley tried to ignore most of the chaos in line, which was on the verge of overloading again as people realized phone service was back up and were frantically calling loved ones to see if they were alive and had they seen that crazy weather where trout fell from the sky? 

It was all very relative and suddenly they were pouring out of the phone on the other end just before the answering machine finished up. Crowley snatched up the phone receiver. 

“Hello, yes, we’re back at the flat. We’re square. Sleep on it to let the sight fade all the way before you start anything new. Ciao.” He could feel the contract complete and indicate it had been paid in full. What the two did with their info, well, he’d just left them all the tools to make their own decisions about what to do, like a good teacher. Up to them what sort of choices they made. 

“Angel, bed?” 

“Dinner?” 

“Takeout.” 

“Oh yes.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jasmine Cottage really does have a horseshoe shaped hedge at the front gate! [Handy screenshot](https://fenrislorsrai.tumblr.com/post/190008773066/i-needed-screenshots-of-jasmine-cottages-hedge) You can faintly see the iron fence as well.
> 
> the set up is a reference to this bit of official meta with how miracles work. [ Angelic miracles pull power down, demon's pull up](https://fuckyeahgoodomens.tumblr.com/post/188408535889/neil-douglas-david-and-michael-devised-a-gesture) I've just have added here if they pull from a ley line, they're pulling in neither direction. So the horseshoe on the cottage front breaks upcoming demonic power, throws it out towards the road. Crowley added in that the front hedge now breaks downcoming angelic ones and again throws it towards the gate. If someone managed to get in anyway, most everyone else that's calling directly on Heaven or Hell is going to yeet themselves across the street and possibly into the nearby field.
> 
> if you like idea of Jasmine Cottage having wards and you want to use this particular set up, please, feel free to swipe it for your fanfic and drop me a comment about it!


	7. Ligur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have one more thing to deal with: Ligur.
> 
> Then it is time for some _pleasures_ of the flesh. It's been a long, long day. They're very mundane ones. (and this is still rated Teen!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild warning for some kind of gross descriptions in dealing with Ligur. Not worse than what happened in show itself, but still, kinda gross.

Ordering dinner would have been the first order of business except for a lingering… smell. It was wet and putrid with a nose scrunching acrid edge that spoke of something that had drowned and floated back up from the depths and was now off gassing in the sun. Crowley was immediately aware of it and didn’t want Aziraphale to look at the source, but there was really no way to deal with it without both of them having to see the dark stain creeping out from under the crumpled coat by the door. 

If it had been just a puddle of liquid it would have been one thing, but this was viscous and lumpy and in the stillness of flat there was a slight ‘pop’ noise and a visible miasma over it. 

The smell intensified. 

They both just stared at it. Crowley had unfortunately provided the details on the initial attack during their uncontrolled sharing of memories earlier. He’d thought it had been a swift death. This… this spoke of something else. Crowley had hated Ligur, had been sure he needed to defend himself, but that it might not have been swift… the speed was the _point_. His other options if he was truly cornered were a knock down drag out fight against a foe he’d definitely lose against in human form and as a serpent, his poison wasn’t fast enough to more than enrage a fellow demon with pain. 

Aziraphale was clearly horrified. Crowley tried to withdraw into himself, to somehow slither off Aziraphale internally, to not even touch the angel despite being in the same body. Aziraphale grasped at him and refused to let him go. 

“That could have been you.” Crowley paused in withdrawal, picking up more clearly that the horror had been at what _might_ have been, not what had actually happened. He’d defended himself with deadly force against a demon he knew was coming to torture or possibly permanently destroy him. He’d wanted to live. That had been the whole point of getting the holy water at all, to make sure he would be the victor in a true life or death struggle. He’d never contemplated using it on himself, which had made Aziraphale’s assumption it was a suicide pill hurt so badly. 

That Aziraphale had considered it equally likely that it might have been turned back on him in a struggle hadn’t quite occurred to him despite all the precautions he’d taken while handling it. Aziraphale had feared just having it in the flat was a risk if Crowley hadn’t been the first one to get to it. It was hidden away but if Hell had actually been thorough, had done actual recon, instead of just relying on terror of impending punishment to make him panic, that weapon might well have been taken and turned back on him just as surely. 

With that knowledge, the faint burning in nostrils took on a more ominous feel. That it might actually be damage being done to him suddenly floated to the front of their mind and they were very rapidly headed down the hallway away from this. Suddenly they were in Crowley’s bathroom running the water, as if washing hands and face would somehow dilute it and save him. 

Watching the water splash into the sink just brought back the memory of Ligur’s burbling screams as he dissolved. Crowley had only managed to hold it together because his usual response to terror was to freeze. It had been so fast and thorough that it _must_ be over. And he’d had the much more pressing issue of Hastur to deal with, who was still very capable of torturing him and all he had was a plant mister and a bunch of lies to prevent that. 

They looked into the mirror and there was a moment of misalignment, Crowley saw a version of Aziraphale paler than ever, hand clenched in midair as if fighting an invisible foe. Aziraphale saw Crowley as a superimposed version of his human and serpent form that flicked back and forth between each other like a lenticular print. The human form frozen in shock while the serpent form struggled and flexed, as if pinned down by some great weight. Each was fighting their own separate battle against an equally matched foe in each other. 

Crowley could clearly feel the hand clenched on him, keeping him from fleeing, crushing him to Aziraphale’s chest. And Aziraphale could feel him move against him, torn between trying to flee entirely and freezing in horror. 

“I can’t let you go. I can’t.” 

“Don’t. Don’t let me go.” 

“I won’t.” 

“Please.” Crowley stopped fighting against Aziraphale and reverted back to a more human shape, making the human reflection suddenly displace the panicked serpent in the mirror. He could see Aziraphale place his hand over his heart and feel that pressure and warmth against the inside of their ribs. 

Aziraphale washed off their face with cold water, letting chill force their heart to slow. Crowley tried to get their memory of dousing Ligur pulled together into some kind of coherent narrative. It was all his really, he didn’t have any of Aziraphale’s memory to try and join with it, but the intensity of the experience left it warped and disjointed, further fractured by having accidentally shared it with Aziraphale earlier. 

The memory had been dumped into Aziraphale, but he could feel the falseness of it. The sensory data and emotional content didn’t quite match with his previous experience of the world. 

That slight bit of misalignment between things let him keep that perspective that this wasn’t truly _his_ experience. It was terrifying and intense, but he could push it away, slot it between memories of reading first hand accounts of similarly horrific things that he had envisioned with his mind’s eye. He could recognize the shock and trauma Crowley had experienced, see its truthfulness, and yet maintain enough distance to not make it part of his own trauma. 

Aziraphale dried their hands and face carefully, focusing on the feeling of towel under their hands. He completely blew all the air out of their lungs before breathing in again and focusing on how their body felt. The slight nose pinching sensation of earlier seemed to be more reaction to the smell than actual damage, so Crowley should be reasonably safe. They probably weren’t inhaling aerosolized holy water. 

“We need to go look. If it wasn’t thorough… we need to do something.” Aziraphale didn’t want him to return to the room at all, but could provide the solid, steadying presence needed to deal with it. Crowley acknowledged what he had done and felt he must finish it if it hadn’t been as complete as he’d aimed for. There was a responsibility there, terrible as it might be. 

Their return back to the office was slower, more measured, steeling themselves to actually see what had happened, was happening, without Crowley being overwhelmed again by fractured memory of earlier incident. 

The scene in the office was somehow both worse and better than they’d anticipated. Crowley’s memory tried to connect this end with the incident that had started it, while Aziraphale could try to focus more on the current state. Crowley honed in on the bits of scale and a molar in the viscous fluid on the floor and Aziraphale promptly diverted him to look at the clothing left behind. Ligur had favored actual clothing rather than miracled or it would have burned as well. Crowley’s mind skittered sideways around that brush with _burning_ and at the entire concept that Ligur shared anything in common with Aziraphale. He could feel the question that went with it and turned them to look at the heavy gloves and rubber apron he’d left on the desk. 

Crowley kept them turned away from the remains while he went for putting the gloves and apron back on again. He’d taken precautions. They were likely effective ones based on the coat left behind, so would work again. He focused on the physical experience of putting them on, feeling the weight and stiffness of the items, letting them ground him in the present. 

Aziraphale meanwhile tried to extend their senses to feel what was there beyond the physical remains. There was an odd sort of non-scent there that he realized was Crowley’s own sense of what holiness smelled like. There was a clear water scent with a hint of metal in it, a strange sort of cleanliness as of rubbing a wet hand tainted with onion along steel to find what was once an overwhelming presence had vanished. 

Aziraphale pushed that aside to focus on the sense of evil there. He realized now the nose pinching scent of earlier that had panicked Crowley was actually unfamiliarity with Aziraphale’s ethereal perceptions as filtered through Crowley’s corporation. That unfamiliar demonic presence had still registered as reptile to him, thus giving the impression that it was Crowley who was injured. Now that he was no longer distracted, he could pick this out more clearly. This was angrier and rawer than Crowley’s usual scent, with a more acidic tone and a metallic smell of abraded flesh. 

But there was a seesaw back and forth between their two impressions as they could feel that thread of power from Adam trying to return the entire world to as-it-was. They weren’t sure if raising the dead was within Adam’s powers or not. But as it stood, this was caught in the knife edge of destruction and resolution as the two opposing forces could not exist together in the same place, leaving Adam’s command in a continuous loop of resolution and dissolution. 

“What do you want to do?” Aziraphale tried to keep the question neutral as this was afterall someone who had been on his way to kill or torture Crowley. But some of his feelings came through anyway. There was a certain justice in total annihilation for someone who would have happily annihilated the world and another demon that had stood in the way of that. That had threatened _Crowley_. Aziraphale may have chosen to put down his sword, but that did not mean he didn’t feel judgment couldn’t be rendered. 

Crowley was relieved that the actual death had been swift. This looping nightmare of reconstruction and deconstruction was an outcome none of them could have foreseen. But he’d made the initial attack to preserve himself. He struck first, but the threat had been very clearly issued. There was no doubt in his mind that Ligur would have done him grievous harm. Claims that they just wanted to talk were blatant lies. He had a long history of that. So he’d struck the first actual blow. But this, _this_ was never his intent. Now Ligur certainly was no threat as this bubbling mass, if he even existed at all. If Adam’s command was completed, would he return to being a threat? Any more of a threat than all of Hell was right now? 

“I don’t like this… but Adam wanted to put it all back. Everyone else got a do over… I hate giving one to Ligur, but… _this_ … can’t be left like this. I don’t know if it’ll work at all, but it’s… he can have the same chance as the rest of the earth.” 

That decided, there was then a question of what to DO with that command. Most of what they’d meddled in earlier was relatively straight forward direction, just reordering things to put them back together correctly. Or it enhanced an existing structure, refined it around the edges to work better and more directly. 

Reassembling a person, that was very much in territory of potentially changing the makeup of that person. You might not get that person. Perhaps a version that seemed close, but one which was in some fundamental way _wrong_. There was also the temptation to do purposeful changes. It would take so little to twist it so what returned, if it returned, was no threat to them… but that would be a new thing, not one restored. Ligur had been remade once already, long ago. While that temptation was there, to actually do so, that would be a violation worse than anything Ligur had contemplated. 

Aziraphale could feel Crowley starting to slide into that terrible, excruciating memory he had shown him just the shape of earlier, of being destroyed and _remade._ He needed to call him back to the here and now. 

“ _Anthony_.” The newest of his names had the ring of being the real, truest one and worked to temporarily draw him away from the yawning abyss of memory. “I don’t think we actually need to remake anything. If we just return the holy water to the container, we’ve removed what’s obstructing Adam’s command. Then we find out if it is in his power to restore Ligur or not. If it's not, it’s not. But if it is, he has no frame of reference to make any changes, so the restoration would be as close to as-is, as-was, as possible.” 

“If there’s anything left there to suffer, stopping that is the right thing if nothing else. Don’t know what’ll happen beyond that.” There was still that pull of memory eating at him, but he was boxing it back up now that they had a more concrete course of action ahead of them. 

“Taking the ineffable option?” Aziraphale knew he was being a bastard, but just the kind needed right now. 

“Don’t get smug about it.” Crowley knew he was being manipulated and goaded, but welcomed it right now. “Do you want to handle returning holy water to the container? Don’t know if it’ll provide any actual protection, you doing it, but there’s a little buffer there, I think. Or you might be able to boot me out of the corporation temporarily.” 

“I like you without the protection of flesh even less.” There was something there that Aziraphale was holding close and not sharing. But that he was sure it was safer _here_ was clear. 

“Not a fan either. So I’ll just stay out of your way. You can use the same tools I had before.” 

Crowley drew himself in closer, mindful of keeping himself entirely within the exact physical bounds of his corporation. Aziraphale did almost the opposite, in rough alignment with it but spilling faintly out of corporation so as to form a sort of holy barrier extending just beyond skin. It was blatant enough that they could clearly see they were glowing enough to cast shadows. It might be entirely illusionary protection, but there was a power in belief and Crowley _believed_ in Aziraphale’s ability to protect him. 

Aziraphale contemplated the task at hand. “If I just return it to the container, we might just end up with a very angry Duke of Hell here once the holy water is gone. I don’t think you want me to pour this right back on him.” 

“No. Kind of defeats the point. I know Ligur’s sigil. We can put a circle round...this... and banish the remains to somewhere.” 

Aziraphale retrieved the thermos and tongs while Crowley was quiet, ruminating on where to send remains to. Aziraphale rummaged in Crowley’s desk to find a writing implement and ended up using a small miracle to turn a regular pen into a heavy permanent marker that would work well on the polished concrete floor. 

“This is Adam’s power and Adam’s command, and tied to the earth. So banishing him to somewhere on earth seems like it would be better than direct to Hell. So I think I could use that connection to send remains to the last place they came in direct contact. Which I am pretty sure was a churchyard eleven years ago.” Aziraphale could very clearly see Crowley’s memory of being handed a basket by Ligur, starting the whole process. 

“That does have a nice bit of in...” 

“Absolutely not” 

“Symmetry.” 

“That’s better. I think the _symmetry_ of that will work. If it is just remains, well, an appropriate place for them. But if Adam wishes to let him have a new beginning, it is likely to have the best chance of working. Either way, no longer in the flat.” 

“Good.” Aziraphale got to work on sketching out a transportation circle in permanent marker, leaving a tiny open section that could be quickly closed as soon as he was done with the holy water. Writing with heavy gloves on was a bit challenging, but seemed like a good idea to avoid any accidental contact with the remains. Every little faint noise from the viscous mass or change in intensity of odor just reinforced that the gloves were a _very_ good idea. 

Crowley supplied an appropriate sigil for Ligur. Unlike when Aziraphale had seen Crowley’s own, this lacked the sense of what all the layers meant, he could not see the former name beneath the current strokes. Crowley took a little longer with the location, having to design an appropriate one for the churchyard. He came up with one that incorporated his own, Ligur’s, and Hastur’s, with a reference to the son of Satan all having met there. That should provide a firm location as all four had never been together anywhere else. 

That then required yet another set of sigils to be sure it was to the indicated location, NOW. Crowley didn’t think Adam could roll back time so far as to end up reverting Ligur all the way back to eleven years ago… but he also wasn’t sure that _wasn’t_ what would happen. He wasn’t sure Adam had the power to undo Ligur’s destruction, but if he did, he might create some kind of time loop as well. Throw enough power at things and what was possible suddenly shifted. 

Aziraphale stood up and looked over the truly massive amount of writing currently on the floor, reviewing everything. The purpose seemed clear enough and the location was now unambiguous. Crowley’s additional time references where something he normally wouldn’t have thought of, but assumed with Crowley’s skills in time manipulation, they were both necessary and correct. There was just a short section left uncompleted now that could be closed with a single marker stroke when the time came. 

Crowley didn’t keep around the supplies for this sort of circle normally. Not like he ever wanted to summon his own kind and this kind of banishment was cumbersome and impractical for something that wasn’t stationary. A quick miracle summoned candles for banishment, which he clearly let Aziraphale handle just in case they were being audited. Let Heaven be confused about _that._

Aziraphale lit all but one, the one closest to the open section. He had an additional one outside the circle lit and in easy reach to light it without fumbling with match or lighter. He retrieved the tongs and the thermos and knelt carefully outside the edge of this, making sure the rubberized apron was tucked under their knees to provide a full barrier between him and the floor in case of any run off. He uncapped the marker and set it where he could reach it in one smooth motion. 

Aziraphale took a careful, steadying breath, only wrinkling their nose slightly at the persistent stench. He pulled wings out slightly, with slight flicker in peripheral vision as they didn’t quite make it into reality, and drew them in close, making sure to press Crowley’s own beneath them. Crowley could feel a firm pressure along nearly the whole length of wings as Aziraphale shielded him. Crowley tried to relax, relinquish all control here, to rest wholly within both his own body and within Aziraphale simultaneously. To be held as safe and close in Aziraphale as his Grace while he handed something that could destroy Crowley. To trust fully that no harm would come to him. 

Aziraphale seemed satisfied now that he really was in charge, totally and completely and Crowley would be as silent an observer as Aziraphale had been earlier while working his own magic. There was a mutual respect for each other’s abilities and knowledge and Crowley sunk a bit further into quiet, willing to let Aziraphale take care of him. He could feel Aziraphale’s pleasure at Crowley submitting entirely to his angel’s loving care. 

“Don’t push it.” There was no bite to it though. 

“Hmmph.” Aziraphale was smiling while he called on his own holy power to tease apart the tangled mess before him. He pushed a bit of his own Grace towards Adam’s command, to claim it and make it his own. This was _his_ holy water and he knew exactly where it was supposed to be. He’d gifted it to Crowley, here in this container, marked with his tartan, made by him, and properly sealed. And it should return to there now, back to where it had never come into contact with any demon and would never come into contact with _his_ demon. 

There was a sense of shifting pressure and a distinct increase in the odor in the flat as a weight settled into thermos. Aziraphale screwed the cap back on. They could feel the mounting pressure as Adam’s command that had been blocked so long tried to burst forth. Aziraphale shifted the thermos out of the circle in one smooth motion and put it down carefully. He grabbed the marker and made a single firm line to close the circle. The flames on the candles wavered with a surge of power as Aziraphale grabbed the lit one and tipped it to the wick of the last unlit one. The feeling of power dropped off suddenly as it was now contained inside the circle. The writing somehow became darker, thicker, solider, looking like a hole etched into reality. It spread out from the inner ring of the circle. That command to return to what-once-was twisted back on itself to connect to where this had all started. The remains and coat suddenly vanished. Aziraphale could feel ears pop and the lingering stench was all that was left. 

Aziraphale gave it a moment and then blew out the nearest candle. Everything reverted back to just being writing on a now clean floor. They’d leave the transportation circle for now, just in case someone came barreling back seeking revenge. It would work exactly once more, if needed. 

Aziraphale looked at the thermos and frowned at it, unsure what to do with it now. 

Crowley stirred slightly. “You were right earlier. Now that they know, it's a bigger risk than defense. Thinking I have it is enough. Actually having it is too dangerous. Is pouring it down the sink appropriate?” 

“I think that’s a lovely idea.” 

“Will you let me do it?” Crowley would accept being told no, for his own good. He trusted Aziraphale’s judgement. 

“Mmm, very well. You handled it earlier just fine. If you want to be the one to be rid of it, I understand.” Though Aziraphale got up and handled tongs himself for now, walking to the bathroom with the thermos. He set it down on the sink and then sat down on the edge of the deep tub. 

Crowley took a moment to reorient himself. He went through the hand motions of unscrewing the lid and tipping the thermos. He let Aziraphale see some of the memory of how carefully he’d handled it earlier, though there was a moment of wrenching terror at lifting the filled bucket above his head to perch it on the door. One tiny little miscalculation then… but he had made it to now. He’d been careful. He could be careful one more time and then never be near it again. 

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to lie back, let Crowley take full control, resist the urge to react, to panic, to twitch at all when his companion just needed his silent, steady presence to complete the task. 

Crowley stood up and took a step to the sink. He unscrewed the lid once more and then took the tongs to pour the contents down the drain, carefully making sure it didn’t splatter at all. He put the thermos under the tap and ran water into it until it was nearly full. He turned it off and then emptied it once more. Repeated twice more until the only sense of holiness left was that which currently lived in him. 

They stripped off the apron and gloves, carefully looking them over for any droplets of water before setting them on the sink. They looked back into the mirror and they both just looked immensely tired and wrung out. Crowley ran tongue along inside of their teeth and Aziraphale made quite a face in the mirror. 

“We should eat something. Our mouth tastes _disgusting_.” 

“Brush teeth, then order food.” Crowley opened the medicine cabinet and retrieved a toothbrush and a tin of dental soap chips before heading to the kitchen. Trying to brush his teeth while looking at Aziraphale in the mirror seemed far too complicated right now. 

“Dental _soap_. And you call me old fashioned.” 

“It’s orange and clove flavored.” 

“I am intrigued and horrified.” 

“Giving you experiences you never dreamed of.” 

“I do believe sharing a toothbrush is supposed to be some kind of relationship milestone these days.” 

“What milestone is sharing a body? I think we’re supposed to kiss or something first?” It was just a little bit of teasing, all he could really manage with how tired he was. Crowley got himself a glass of water in the kitchen and rinsed his mouth out once before getting to actually brushing teeth. 

It was extremely mundane yet also somehow deeply surprising. Crowley of course looked put together most of the time, fancy hair, carefully chosen wardrobe, but he rarely ate and poured alcohol into his corporation in vast quantities, and often had a total disregard for his physical safety. The familiarity of motions, that the toothbrush was a bit worn down, that he apparently checked spots with tongue to feel the texture of his teeth and then followed up with more brushing if he found something lacking, all spoke to this being some sort of long standing habit. 

Crowley used the rest of the glass of water to rinse out and spat in the sink. The taste of the destroyed demon was finally gone and the smell of fruit and spice meant he wasn’t picking back up lingering scents either. 

“You get your hair cut and a hot shave at the barber, get your nails done, take extravagant baths, and you’re surprised I brush my teeth?” 

“I figured you miracled them. You often don’t eat, so voluntarily putting things in your mouth… I’m just surprised.” 

“You have your pleasures and I have mine.” Crowley was still clearly exhausted mentally and emotionally, but doing one thing to actually take care of himself, like taking care of himself _mattered_ , seemed to have lightened his burden. 

“Brushing your teeth counts as a pleasure?” Aziraphale teased, but the overwhelming fondness there brightened Crowley’s mood further. 

“You know what, once we order you some dinner, I’m going to let you in on my other great secret pleasure after the day we’ve had.” Which Crowley was holding onto VERY tightly so had no idea what it might be. 

“Oh my.” 

Crowley dug around in the desk for takeout menus. Which turned out to be carefully annotated as to what were Aziraphale’s favorite items from each place. There were sticky notes added when he’d run out of space in margins. Aziraphale was deeply amused by this and flipped through them quickly, relying on Crowley to know which ones actually delivered here. 

They called in an order on the land line and managed to make a relatively smooth switch between Aziraphale ordering and Crowley taking over to read off the credit card number from the wallet. The realization that it likely sounded like spouses handing the phone off to each other made Crowley stumble a little over the date so he had to repeat it. He just stared at the phone after hanging up as Aziraphale just accepted that realization. 

He gave him a slight nudge before Crowley’s tired mind went haring off on a tangent. “Well now, I do believe you owe me your _secret pleasure_.” 

“Deep secret.” There was a sense of mischief there in making it a secret, but that he would get to show off something utterly mundane and have Aziraphale be delighted was making Crowley a little giddy. 

Crowley headed to his bedroom and hung up his suit coat and vest. The little scarf and his shirt got tossed in a hamper. They’d miracled themselves and clothes clean earlier in the day when they were burning off power from ley line, but it still felt nice to get out of clothes they’d been in all day. Stripping down gave a mental sense of completion. They could finally relax. They were _done_. 

Crowley sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, dropping them on the floor with a careless thud. Socks got peeled off and tossed at the hamper. He undid the belt on trousers while standing back up and took a moment trying to shimmy out of them without much success. He was about to miracle them off when he got interrupted. 

“Should we perhaps keep something on for the delivery man?” 

“Got a robe. I’m not answering the door _naked_. This is not a porno.” 

“Well then, allow me to help.” 

Crowley had a brief moment of brain completely shutting down at that, which let Aziraphale take over and slide hands into trousers and shove them down their thighs, along with their boxers. He sat them back down to tug each trouser leg down over their calves. Crowley watched as his own hand was run along bare calf, thumb stroking along the slight dip between the shin bone and the muscle, feeling it being examined and admired. 

“Not a porno…” 

He received a fond pat on bare leg. “Yes, dearest. Merely a reminder that it was not simply because the world was ending. Now where’s this robe? I don’t intend to share.” 

“Ah… yeah.” Crowley got up on slightly unsteady legs, as he was suddenly aware of their existence in a way he hadn’t been before. He wasn’t his corporation and also was. Today had involved so much non-physical, occult, ethereal, metaphysical contact that such purely physical touch had seemed to be the _strange_ part. That there were mundane, worldly intimacies left to experience seemed both reassuring and shocking in its own way. 

Crowley retrieved the robe from the closet. It was warm enough this time of year for a stylish black robe rather than a warm one, but it still had pockets. An important feature. Wallet got transferred to the robe so they could tip the delivery person in cash. 

“Now, my dear, I believe you had some secret pleasure? Unless it was the bathrobe?” 

“Nah, this looks like what people would expect so that’s not a secret.” He rummaged in the drawer and retrieved a pair of very fuzzy socks and sat down on the bed to put them on. They were far too bulky to be comfortable in regular boots, but for puttering around the flat, absolutely perfect. 

“That’s more like it.” Crowley flexed toes in them. 

“Fuzzy socks? Really?” 

“ _Clean_ socks. That haven’t been miracled clean. That are actually clean and fresh and not created via miracle.” 

“And you make fun of my suit! You …” There was just fond exasperation behind it 

“That coat is still out of date, but yes, I keep SOME real clothes. You convinced me long ago. I just update them more frequently.” 

“Mmm, yes, there is a certain something about a change of clean real clothes. Especially when you’ve been running on miracles…” 

“There’s more.” 

“Is there now?” 

“Your food should be here shortly so you can get a demonstration meantime.” 

Said demonstration apparently being that they were exactly the right type of socks for sliding across Crowley’s polished concrete floors as Aziraphale got given a tour of sorts. It was simultaneously extremely suave AND dorky as all get out. There was a grace and finesse to sliding right to the point where he wanted to stop to show off some piece of art, but also, it was just the kind of thing the demon would have been absolutely mortified if anyone else caught him doing. But for Aziraphale, he got to see the whole package. 

“You don’t have to charm me, I’m already terribly smitten.” 

“I had everything set up a certain way, so you would see it coming in from door someday, be all impressed, but we’re doing it backwards and I don’t care. Tearing up that plan. I’m very, very tired but _you’re here with me_ , so no plan. No trying to pretend I am cool and glamorous.” 

“Darling, I never thought you were cool and glamorous.” 

“Hey…” 

“You’re utterly enchanting, but you are far too high strung to ever be cool. You do a good impression though.” 

“S’fair.” 

“Don’t your feet get cold in here in winter?” 

“Nope. Got that fancy underfloor heating. It’s off right now. Floor usually doesn’t feel warm exactly, but when I’ve been out in the cold in February, when it's that bone-damp cold… sometimes when I get in I just strip off and lay on the floor under an electric blanket for a bit.” 

“Is that where the spare from the shop keeps getting to?” It was indeed where it got to. Because it smelled like Aziraphale and Crowley would bring back the one he’d stolen and swap it for the one on the couch when it stopped smelling like the angel. 

“Oh, is that the doorbell, I think it is.” He might not be pretending he was cool, but there was still a long established habit of trying to look cool. _For Aziraphale._ Nevermind Aziraphale had bought the two electric blankets just for him. That he snuggled up in them to enjoy smell was just too… he could even seem to settle on which four letter word to use. Soft? Nice? Cute? Aziraphale seemed set on _cute._ And that was a far more effective method of charming him than trying to look cool. 

Aziraphale let him deflect so as to try and regain some of his dignity. Best to have a moment to compose himself anyway as the doorbell being rung had set off the whole confrontation in the flat with Ligur and Hastur. Crowley suddenly realized that might indeed upset him and wasn’t sure what to do about that. 

“Perhaps if you changed the sound on it, that might be enough?” 

“Yeah…that might do.” Crowley ran his hands over his face before snapping fingers to do exactly as suggested. “I am not really thinking straight anymore. Just so wrung out. Feel almost drunk at this point.” 

“I can eat later if you want to sleep.” 

“No, eat first. Then we’ve both had a chance to have something good, remind us of the world. We didn’t even have any of the biscuits earlier because you didn’t want to distract me while I was working. We’re gonna eat. Then I’ll sleep. I don’t know if you have to while I do.” 

“Perhaps I’ll be able to stay awake while you sleep properly, but I’m not going to resist going to sleep. It might prevent you from sleeping. You clearly need the rest at this point.” 

“I’m a real mess.” 

“I’m only marginally better. But you’ve taken such good care of me.” 

“S’what I do.” 

“You do. But it was also nice getting to return the favor.” 

“Yeah… I… that was nice. It’s just hard sometimes.” There was a great deal of complicated feelings under that statement, that Crowley felt he might be able to share once he had rested and could actually _share_ them rather than just unload them onto Aziraphale. 

The doorbell rang at this point, sounding like a flurry of text message noises. 

“Coming!” Crowley took a moment to adjust their sunglasses and retrieve his wallet from his pocket before going last few feet to open the door. 

The young man standing there with food looked only slightly better than they felt and he didn’t even bat an eye at a man in sunglasses, satin bathrobe, and fuzzy socks, who still had a faint glow under his skin. This was the most normal interaction he’d had all day. Crowley went to pull a five out of wallet and could feel Aziraphale was about to do some miracle to it, so pulled a second one out. Two five pound notes on an order this size was a rather extravagant tip, but anyone that was out making food delivery runs directly after Armageddon clearly _needed_ the cash. And had likely Seen Some Things today. They could sympathize. 

He handed over the tip, took the bag from the delivery man, and closed the door before reaching out to the nearby ley line to pull power sideways, so they could work simultaneously. They grinned like idiots as they realized they’d both performed the exact same trick. Two fives was a good tip, but not so outrageous for the delivery man to clearly remember the details of where he got it. When he got home later and discovered he had somehow acquired two fifty pound notes as tips, well, he’d have a mystery on his hands, but one he wouldn’t be inclined to solve. 

Was kebabs AND fish and chips too much? Should they have ordered for one person instead of two? Possibly. But at this point restraint was not really in cards, so it got carried back into the flat to be eaten… somewhere. Crowley didn’t really want to eat in the office due to the recent memories made there. Bed seemed like a bad idea as he might nod off in the middle. They ended up sitting in the plant room as he’d only vaguely showed it off to Aziraphale on the earlier tour. 

Fish and chips wasn’t exactly Aziraphale’s usual style but there was just something very human about fried foods at the end of a long, trying day. That it didn’t require much chewing and could be swallowed in big gulps was why Crowley tended to favor them when he did eat. He let Aziraphale plow through those, adjusting to the corporation's idiosyncrecies. They’d skipped biscuits with earlier tea as chewing while talking had seemed too complicated a task. Now Aziraphale could give it his full attention. 

He had to adjust a bit to Crowley’s corporation which had rather different experience of how things smelled and thus tasted. Sauce was initially skipped so he could establish how things tasted plain before adding additional flavors. Chips were savored but polished off before they could cool. 

Then he moved on to the halal kebabs which were his usual order, which came with rice and flatbread with charred grill marks on it. There was a different type of sauce with it and an assortment of crisp, raw vegetables. The tomatoes were in season now and went perfectly with spiced meat. 

Crowley didn’t quite doze off during this, but did just submerge himself in the pleasure of the experience. He enjoyed watching Aziraphale eat normally, but this he got to experience first hand. Aziraphale seemed intent on wringing every bit of additional sensory data from this that he could, chasing an additional flavor note, taking little bites of vegetables or bread to cleanse the palate a bit so he could chase after more subtle flavors. Crowley generally took heightened sense of smell for granted or actively disliked it as a reminder that he didn’t quite pass as human. Sharing the exact same sensory experience with Aziraphale as his body was used to introduce the angel to new pleasures was not quite the physical relationship he had imagined, but it was also deeply satisfying to have his body appreciated in a way he didn’t normally. Aziraphale finding delight and pleasure in it gave him some complicated feelings about his own relationship with his body. 

Leftovers were not going to be a thing as both orders got polished off, leaving their corporation feeling lazy and full and content in a way Crowley didn’t usually pursue. Aziraphale seemed well pleased by the whole thing and took containers to the kitchen trash.<br> “I might have slightly overdone it. I’m not sure your body is used to this.” 

“Ssss’fine” Hiss was creeping in as tiredness was winning over pleasure. “Snake can take it. But snake needs sleep. Now.” 

“Oh… yes… that is rather...I see now why you don’t eat like that often.” 

“Yessssss.” 

Aziraphale washed their hands in the sink and stared at toothbrush and dental soap. He went for simply rinsing out their mouth with water and giving cursory brushing to teeth again while stifling a yawn. 

“I think I am going to join you on sleeping. Do you sleep in anything?” 

“In bed.” 

“No, then.” 

“Yesssss.” Crowley was barely managing to stay alert at this point. 

Aziraphale took them slowly back to the bedroom and contemplated the bed for a moment, like using it was a foreign concept. 

“My turn.” Crowley took back over and flipped covers down. He shrugged the robe off their shoulders and let it slide to the floor. He sat down on the bed and rubbed his foot along his calf to shove socks back off and leave them atop the pooled robe. He just kind of fell back into bed and rolled hips in a way that absolutely shouldn’t work for a human to get feet into bed. He flipped covers back over so he was hidden completely beneath them. He stretched out completely, seemingly cracking every joint in his body before going boneless in bed, rubbing a foot against the sheets. Then was out like a light, leaving Aziraphale briefly alone in a body committed to sleeping. 

There was a sense that he could likely force himself to stay awake, keeping his mind alert and active… or could let this overtaxed body truly rest. Staying awake and watchful might be the safe thing to do… but the really safe thing to do would have been not sharing a body with a demon, so he really should join Crowley in his chosen pleasure. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote 3/4 of what is now the NEXT chapter and went "Oh shit, I forgot about Ligur!". 
> 
> Also I hope you liked smells, because you're getting a bunch of that in next chapter. also CONSEQUENCES FOR SHARING A BODY.


	8. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can nonphysical beings have physical consequences? Looks like!

Crowley woke feeling fuzzy and unmoored as if he was alone in a foggy field on a warm summer morning. He gradually became aware of a great weight on his chest that gave him some grounding as it was rather uncomfortable. There was a sort of dull ache along one side. He brought a hand up to push it into a more comfortable position and found scales. That was distinctly Not Right. The fuzziness receded and he became aware that something was also distinctly _missing_. 

“Aziraphale!” he sat upright, sending massive snake on him tumbling off shoulders and thrashing wildly to try and make sense of up and down. There was a smell of ozone and an odd tearing noise and Crowley was suddenly buffeted in face by wings attached to what should be his body. Wait, where the hell was HE? 

“Crowley!” 

“I’m right here, turn around!” He got another mouthful of feathers and saw a brief flash of gold as Aziraphale got to his hands and knees and turned around and was now straddling Crowley in bed. 

“Oh thank heaven!” Arms were flung around him and he was pulled in tight. He had clothing on and rather wished he didn’t as he was pressed against slightly cool bare skin. He almost miracled the clothes away, but brain was saying this might mean he had Aziraphale’s body and beloved clothes so he better not. 

“Thank Adam I think. Not that I minded sharing.” 

Aziraphale pulled back and ran hands over Crowley’s face grinning in delight. Crowley wasn’t sure the look suited his body and the wings… he hadn’t seen them white in so long… though they weren’t exactly entirely white were they… and his chest… Crowley gasped. 

“Dearest, what’s wrong?” 

“Never had that before…” he reached a hand out and ran hands over the great, glittering blue black serpent tattoo now across his chest. It felt somehow cooler than the surrounding skin. Aziraphale leaned slightly into touch. 

Aziraphale looked down at it “Oh my, that IS dramatic.” He ran thin hands over it, finding where head lay over the heart, and rubbing at it slightly. There was a secondary mark below it, a shining bit of gold that caught the light as he breathed. 

“I think there’s something on the back too. Can you turn around without hitting me in the face this time?” 

“Hang on.” Aziraphale scooted backwards enough that he could roll off him and to the edge of bed so he could stand up. “Better?” 

“What the fuck.” Crowley threw back the covers and struggled for a moment with an unfamiliar corporation that was a lot stiffer in the hips. Twisting to get his feet to the side of the bed sent a jolt of pain through ribs and he groaned. He didn’t trust his legs to stand on after that. 

“That didn’t sound promising.” 

He ignored the pain to focus on Aziraphale for the moment. “There’s more. Marks all over the back between the wings and two big long marks.” Crowley looked up to where the snake appeared across the back of neck and shoulders, multiple coils having been superimposed over each other. Then down to the shoulder blades where there was a riot of feather marks is the dark metallic and a fainter gold superimposed over each other, taking up most of the area. The dark metallic color extended across tops of wings, with most of it along bases. There was also some along the very tips of the primaries. 

“Wings are ...weird. Close them around you so you can see some of it.” Aziraphale pulled in his shoulders and closed wings around to front so he could see them clearly, running hands along the top edge so he could touch the dark patches. 

“These are dark, but not quite the same color as yours were. They feel a little odd. This is bluer. Yours are actually black, I think.” 

“If they’re still that color. If those aren’t mine.” 

There were two long marks in blueish black on back where it looked like another set of wings would sit. He reached up and found there was a distinct ache on one side as he raised his arms. He ignored it so he could run hands over the mark and shivered as he felt something stroke along the base of his own closed wings. Aziraphale didn’t react to it other than to lean into his hands again. 

“Shit, angel, I think we need to get your wings out. Or mine? Whichever ones are with this body right now. We don’t seem to have gotten all the parts with the right person. Turn around and help me up.” 

Aziraphale took a step away and then turned so he didn’t clip Crowley with his wings. He offered Crowley his hands. 

“That we’re starting off in the wrong one isn’t entirely encouraging. You even sound like me.” Aziraphale wrinkled his nose and the expression looked distinctly wrong on his face. “And I sound rather like you. It’s a bit different hearing yourself from outside your body. But more like me than you. This is dreadfully confusing to even explain.” 

“I was too focused on other things to notice, but you sound like me on the ansaphone… but wrong. Different cadence. It’s weird. We sounded more clearly like us when we were in the same body. I’m getting distracted, we were going to look at wings.” 

Crowley took his hands and let Aziraphale help him to a standing position. There was a distinct bit of pain now at the pull on his arm. Crowley grimaced and Aziraphale frowned back at him. 

“You seem to be having difficulty with mine.” 

“It’s nothing.” From the look he was getting Aziraphale didn’t believe that at all. 

“It most certainly isn’t. What’s wrong?” He squeezed his hands slightly, yellow of eyes starting to eat away at the whites. 

“Fiiine. One side hurts and I don’t know why.” 

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked down at the ground and looked a bit embarrassed. “Yes. I guess that might have stayed…” Aziraphale put a gentle hand on the bad side and Crowley could feel the pain receding. 

“Is it always like this?” 

“Oh no, nothing of the sort. Sandalphon punched me.” 

“WHAT. You didn’t share that part!” He tried to sort out what Aziraphale had shared about earlier in the day during their original uncontrolled sharing, but there was only a vague blur of pain and a sense that he didn’t have time for this. 

“I didn’t want you to worry and everything else was much more pressing. And once I was with you, I was mostly fine. But I guess my body was restored to how it was right before I got discorporated. _That_ was considerably more memorable. And relevant.” Aziraphale continued stroking along his side, following direction muscles lay. The discomfort faded away and Crowley felt himself settling into this body in a way he hadn’t been earlier. It still felt a bit like he was wearing someone else’s clothes, but they were ones that belonged to someone he dearly loved, so there was a reassuring warmth and comfort in it. That he was being stroked by that someone also helped, but he was now very aware that he wasn’t actually sharing anymore. He couldn’t just get the info directly anymore. 

“ _Mostly_ fine. How did I not notice?” 

“You weren’t meant to.” 

Crowley frowned at him and Aziaphale sighed. 

“I wasn’t just me hiding it from you. Sandalphon knew exactly what he was doing. It wasn’t supposed to be obvious what he’d done. If he ever got called on it, the other two could say he’d just punched me. But it was a very purposeful blow. It would have been considerably worse if I hadn’t been in a corporation. That took the brunt of it. I’ve had worse. This feels like he cracked a rib and bruised everything around it. I was effectively grounded.” 

“Is that why you didn’t suggest flying?” 

“Yes. Corporation took the majority of it, but I couldn’t tell if things feeling off was that we were both in the same corporation or that it had carried over. I feel quite good, so I think I’m alright. Put arms over your head, would you?” 

Crowley picked up both arms but found that the coat wouldn’t let him extend his arms all the way. He made another grimace as there was still an ache on one side that he couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Mmm, yes.” Aziraphale ran a soothing hand over him and pain receded again. There was a tightness to expression. “Also convenient he happened to hit me on the side I use a sword. So either wouldn’t have been able to lift it fully or would have had to fight with the wrong hand.” 

“You seem to have put some thought into this.” 

“Yes and no. I hadn’t considered the sword before. Sandolphon is clever in his own particular way. There’s a viciousness there, but buried under plausible deniability. Makes sure to hurt you where it won’t immediately show.” There was a distinct frown now, as Aziraphale was clearly now putting quite a lot of thought into it and disliking his conclusions. 

“Perhaps it would have gotten worse if they hadn’t been called to battle at that point. But I think it equally likely he would have left it at that. I would have had to use the transportation circle to get there even if I hadn’t been using it for communication. It ensured I was late, if nothing else. But it also meant I would be grounded and fighting at a disadvantage. Easy prey. If I appeared to be fighting poorly and was killed, well, clearly it was because my heart wasn’t in it. All very plausible when I can’t say anything about what happened.” 

“Aziraphale…” Crowley hurt in an entirely different way now. He hurt _for_ Aziraphale and wasn’t sure how to convey that. He went for wrapping his arms around him and pulling him as close as he could, ignoring the twinge in the muscles of his chest. Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his neck and pressed his head into his shoulder. 

“Crowley, I got through it with you. It’s actually easier for me to heal from the outside, so…. this worked out.” The way he said it seemed like he wasn’t entirely talking about being outside his body. 

“I could feel you before. You could feel me. Now we can’t. I don’t like you hurting. I don’t know what to say to make it better.” 

“This is between me and Heaven, so nothing really. You told me all the things I needed to know before.” He gave him a little squeeze and then pulled back enough so they could see each other’s faces again. Aziraphale ran a hand along his face and smiled at him and that expression on Crowley’s regular corporation looked so achingly tender. He hoped he could make his face do that for Aziraphale. 

“But how do I tell you now? “ 

“You’ve been telling me for a long time I just was an idiot and didn’t acknowledge it. Though it was apparently obvious to others.” He shook his head slightly and huffed in a familiar manner. “Uriel called you my boyfriend in dark glasses.” 

Crowley spluttered at that. “I thought we were careful!” 

“Doesn’t matter now, enough with being careful.” He leaned down and kissed him. 

It was extremely awkward. They tilted heads to try and adjust for height difference, but it was the reverse of what they expected. Aziraphale used entirely too much tongue, it was more like having teeth licked than kissed. Crowley dug fingers into his back and made a pained noise as his shoulder twinged again. Aziraphale sighed and tipped his head downward to rest their foreheads together, nose nearly poking Crowley in the eye. 

“That was… um… nice?” Crowley went with. He’d finally gotten kissed, but it had been, well... 

Aziraphale snorted. “Fairly terrible, but I hope you understood what was behind it. I think we should finish patching me up and get me back in the right body so I can kiss you properly.” 

“Properly?” Crowley pulled back slightly to look up at him. 

“Or you can kiss me properly. I’m sure you can do some remarkable things with this tongue, but without you in here with me, I have no idea what.” 

“Uh. Yes.” Crowley could feel his face flushing. 

“Good.” There was a very predatory look to that smile. “Now let’s get clothes off you so I can finish healing body and see if there’s anything changed on it.” 

“Hmm. Uh. Give me a hand with all your layers. This was NOT how I pictured getting to do this for the first time.” 

“But you did picture it.” The grin was absolutely salacious and there was a hint of forked tongue. 

“We are NOT doing that. Absolutely not. That kiss was terrible. We are figuring out how to get back in the right body and then…” He unwisely looked at his face and realized he was certainly in for _something more than kissing_. “Then, then…. maybe.” 

“Oh good. I’d be disappointed if you said no after all that.” 

“How. Are. You. Like. This.” He was finally getting shirt buttons undone and made a frustrated noise that there was also an undershirt under all this! Aziraphale peeled the undershirt off him, guiding it so he didn’t have to lift his arm all the way on the bad side. 

“Well now I know what a very good distraction it is for you. Didn’t even twitch at that. Also, I do feel rather good. Your body is a _delight._ I slept well. I didn’t know it could be so nice. That was a lovely experience! Waking up a snake was a little confusing, but oh, darling, you’re going to have to sleep on me like that, I’m so WARM. You’ll love it.” 

“You want me… to sleep on you… as a snake?” 

“You can be awake too. Reading with you curled around me might be quite nice. I didn’t exactly get to enjoy it fully when we were sharing since we were either panicked, exhausted, or busy for much of it.” 

Crowley looked back at him and ran a hand over the snake on his chest. 

“ _Busy_ is one way to put it. This isn’t the position I was in the whole time, but it’s awfully close…. And I think you may have woken up with you in this position.” 

“Yes, a little muddled since you sat up suddenly, but I think it just might be. Bring your arm up until it starts to hurt, please.” Aziraphale laid his hand on bare side, fingers feeling distinctly cool. 

Crowley followed the command, lifting arm ‘til he winced and then Aziraphale poked at ribs til he found a sore point. He had him extend his arm out and repeat. He dug fingers in here and there to find all the little bits of damage beneath the skin. It was odd to watch what looked very much like him healing. He was so used to having to hide that he could do it at all. Demons didn’t _heal_. 

This felt both similar and different to how he did it, when he had time to do it right. He could feel Aziraphale was either pulling from nearby ley lines or drawing from his own personal reserves. This wasn’t the sudden, miraculous repair of calling on Heaven where it was done in a flash. This was meticulous restoration rather than creation or raw replacement. He could feel the care behind it as Aziraphale found each little bit and wove it back together. When he healed, he had to do the same trick of pulling from his own reserves or from earth itself, but he could rarely take the time to be so very careful. His healing tended to scar as a result. He looked at the dark marks on those white wings and his heart hurt. 

“Dearest, you’re crying. What’s the matter?” Aziraphale looked at him with yellow eyes and it somehow only made it worse. 

“We should get you back in your body.” 

“Of course. But are you alright?” 

Crowley rubbed an arm across his eyes. “Body’s just different than I’m used to.” He sniffed. 

“Tricky things corporations. And you left in there with no guide.” 

“Yeah.” He sniffed again and looked up at the ceiling, like somehow that would make it stop. 

“If we’d ended up sharing mine, how would that have been? Do you like it?” 

“Bit leaky.” 

Aziraphale laughed at that. “Can’t be all bad. Bit roomier than yours, I think.” 

“It is. S’nice. Comfy. Filled with millennia of the good things in life. It suits you better than me though.” He looked at Aziraphale and pulled himself straight. “and… and… I am looking forward to getting my hands all over all this goodness, once I’m using _my_ hands. If you’ll let me.” 

He was met with a fond smile. “That’s the spirit. Now, let's get trousers off me and see if anything else is wrong.” 

“I can get wings out without doing that.” 

“Yes, but should be thorough and they’ll be harder to get off once you’ve got wings out.” 

“I can just put them away again.” 

“Can you? Because I’m having a bit of difficulty doing that. It’s why I left them out.” 

“We opened and closed both sets of them enough times in the last day I’d think it would be easy by now.” 

“That’s just it, I feel like I should be doing it with two sets and I’ve just got the one now and it feels a little off kilter since I spent all day with both of us in here. Like folding up one of those travel maps, but now I’ve only got half of it so the creases don’t line up correctly anymore.” 

“Try and then we’ll know if I should extend these or I’m likely to have them stuck out.” 

Aziraphale stared at the ceiling for a moment and then rolled his neck and shoulders in a very familiar way that looked deeply unfamiliar when done with Crowley’s body. There was a feel of some kind of pressure across his back and Crowley gasped. 

“Oh dear. This may be a problem.” 

“I could feel something on wings before when I touched the mark on your back. There’s definitely a connection. Let’s get me the rest of the way undressed and then we’ll see if you can open the second set and see what happens.” 

Crowley went to shuck off trousers and realized he still had bloody shoes on… nevermind he’d been in bed when this started. Without active guidance, Adam’s command had given him the full, complete outfit but had left them in wrong corporations somehow. Aziraphale ended up shoving him back into sitting on the bed and helping him take shoes and socks off. Having him kneeling and practically in his lap made Crowley’s ears go all pink again. And then bright red as Aziraphale looked up at him from that position and said “Boxers too.” 

“Is that really _necessary_?” 

“I believe the point was to check things over and you’ve made no objection to me having nothing on this whole time. You don’t have to be modest about it. I know what I look like and it’s going to be easier for me to look from outside.” 

“But it's _you_. Well your body. A new one. Or maybe the old one recycled. I really don’t know. This is weird. You’ve always been so fussy about it. How are you just so casual about this now?” 

“I rather like your body. You’re quite lovely.” 

“Do you not like yours?” 

“Oh I am looking forward to getting it back, yours is a tad chilly. But I like yours in a very different way than I like mine. You have never been quite as cool and collected as you like to think, but currently, in my body? You have no idea how to school your face at all and it is a delight to see what things utterly undo you.” 

“You are such a bastard. More so than usual. I’m a little worried honestly.” 

“Yes, well, I made my choice and I am going to live with it. Sharing a body with a demon for a day, desertion, insubordination, dereliction of duty, well at least as Heaven defined it, I’m sure several dozen other things, and I don’t appear to have Fallen, so really, I don’t think _fraternizing_ is going to be a problem at this point. I can’t possibly do anything more intimate with you than what we’ve already done. And it does seem to get you focused. Brain can’t get trapped in a loop of anxiety if it’s entirely shut down because I flirted with you. Now then, finish stripping, and do try to stop blushing, though I must say it's quite fetching and I see why you tease me so if that’s what I look like.” 

“It is what you look like. And then you do that THING where you look up at me through your lashes and I am beginning to suspect that is very calculated.” 

“Since you didn’t pick it up while we were together, I shan’t tell you.” 

“Bastard. It _is_ intentional, isn’t it?” 

Crowley did finally get fully stripped and then Aziraphale circled round him to check what changes there were, if any. He ran a hand along his spine and Crowley shivered. “I honestly don’t know what my back looks like normally. Nothing like what you said yours looked like.” 

“See if you can open the other set of wings, though maybe not while behind me.” 

Aziraphale came around front and put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders to steady them both. There was a faint pull of something between them and then a bit of tingle in wings as if it was a limb waking up and then they popped out, without Crowley having tried to extend them. 

“Oh, that IS interesting.” 

“What?” 

Aziraphale put a hand on his chest, over his heart. “That wasn’t there until wings were extended.” Crowley looked down at soft chest and found a very clear, obvious golden handprint. It didn’t quite look right. Aziraphale flipped his hand over into a different orientation with the palm out. 

“Oh dear, I think I may have done that to you. To YOU, not just this corporation. Let me see the rest.” He ducked around behind him to look at back again and made a noise. 

“Is it bad?” 

“Oh, it’s quite beautiful actually, but what’s this?” as a hand was run in line down shoulders and Crowley could feel Aziraphale shiver. “Oh that is strange, I’m touching you, but feel it at the base of my own. Was that what you felt earlier?” 

“Yes. Are my wings discolored near the base too?” 

“Yes, mostly along the scapulares though there’s a little bit of gold going into the secondaries as well, along the tips. And you’re gold in between your wings and a bit below as well. Where it runs into your black, some of the feathers have that bluish tinge mine have now.” 

“If this didn’t show until I extended wings… Aziraphale, some of the marks on me… they might actually be on you and they were only showing because when you shifted out of being a snake, you extended wings. I’m so sorry.” There was a distinct tremble to voice. 

“Don’t be. Sharing a body had to come with some risks. But I think we’ll know for sure once we switch back.” 

“I really hope it all stays on me. Maybe it's just mixed up and switching will fix it. We should do that now, though maybe tuck wings in.” 

“Didn’t you have to have them out to pull me in the first time?” 

“Ah, yes, I’m not sure we can switch so much as maybe pull you into this one? And then maybe step into my own?” 

“We might want to lie down, you didn’t even stay sitting upright the first time.” 

“Point taken.” Crowley got back onto bed and then felt Aziraphale’s hand on his ankle. 

“There’s a bit more, it seems.” 

“What?” 

“Look at the top of your feet and your calves.” 

Crowley flopped over a bit awkwardly as his wings were still out. He folded a leg up to see what looked like quite clear feather marks on calves, though from considerably larger feathers than the ones on back. 

“I think these might match your wing tips.” 

“Hmm, they just might. The hand print was clearly mine.” 

“The feathers marks across back on both of us are from wing contact. Though why the different pattern….” 

“You’re taller.” 

“I mean in my usual body yes, but that’s kind of relative.” 

“We oriented our wings like you were. Yours were on top and are marked on bottom. Mine are marked across the top. Assuming the wings we have now are ours.” 

“Well time to find out.” 

Aziraphale lay down next to him and Crowley started to roll over onto his stomach to give wings a bit more room. 

“We did this facing each other last time, that will probably be easier if we mirror that, even if we’re lying down now.” 

“Good idea.” They shifted into position so they were looking at each other. Aziraphale reached out a hand to touch Crowley’s face. “I’ve enjoyed being a guest in here, but I really would like to be in my own body again.” 

“Me too. Let’s do this.” Crowley reached out and laid a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and tried to feel how to start movement and it wasn’t so easy now that they were both in bodies. “Hmmm, get a bit closer.” 

They both scooted forward at the same time and ended up with bellies pressed together. Crowley’s breath hitched a bit at how close together their faces were. 

“Um… reach around back where the mark from the other wing is and see if you can grasp that. And then I think we can sort of pull each other through that way.” 

At first they tried over the shoulder but touching the top of the wing tended to make them move them, which broke the connection. Which meant they ended up snaking arm around each other's waist instead and coming up below the wing, brushing forearms through the bottom edge of each other's secondaries before finding a spot on each other’s back where other wings had sat. It was easy to tell when they found the right spot as it was very disorienting having the feeling of their wing being touched at an impossible angle from how the arm was brushing past it. 

“Ready, my dear?” 

“As I’ll get. You know how we folded around each other the first time, I think now that we have a grip on each other that way, we can use that to guide us back. Like squeezing past each other in a hallway.” 

“I’ll start then.” He could feel the slight pull on wing without it being touched and it was then just a matter of twisting over and through each other, wings fading in and out of reality along with rest of body as they moved together and then feeling a sort of solid stop where they came to rest as they felt they couldn’t push or pull each other further along. 

Crowley was back to looking at Aziraphale _as_ Aziraphale and there really was nothing quite so gorgeous in the world. And he was smiling back at him and Crowley couldn’t help smiling genuinely. “It worked!” 

The snake mark now sat across Aziraphale’s soft chest and Crowley looked down at his own chest to see the handprint clearly there. Aziraphale had his own mostly white wings now with him, but the dark patches were clear along the top edge. Crowley’s elation drained away. 

“I’m so sorry. It is on you. I _tainted_ you.” 

“Crowley.” 

“Your body is all marked, your _real_ body, I did that to you and I shouldn’t have and there’s really no plausible deniability anymore, there’s a bloody great snake on you like I branded you and your wings are going dark and it’s my fault and what if it keeps spreading...” 

Aziraphale pinched him sharply on his arm. 

“ANGEL!” 

He ran a hand over spot, soothing away pain utterly mundanely. “I am genuinely fine. I knew there were risks. I am not mad at you. Are you mad at me? You’re marked just as clearly.” 

“No, I’m not mad at you. I just, I just… “ There was edge of sob there and Crowley scrubbed at eyes. “This is stupid. We’re both fine. But it’s just… you really like me?” 

“I _love_ you.” He lay hand over the handprint on Crowley. 

“I just… last time I stopped feeling love lived _in_ me… my appearance changed… and… and… what if that happens to _you_...” Now he was definitely crying. 

“ _Dearest._ I think I understand what you’re telling me. You didn’t intend for this to happen and now you’re different and a great many people are mad at you. But this time has a different ending.” 

“Does it?” 

“Yes. *I* marked you. And you marked me. You sit over my heart always now. And I have my hand over yours. And I would do it all again, knowing that we’d end up being unable to hide it. What’s the point of being on our side if we hide there’s even an our side?” 

“Even the wings? What if it spreads? What if yours go all black...”<br> “I don’t feel like I’m Falling. But if you’re worried, feel them. You’d be able to feel if I was actually corrupted, I think.” 

“I… I… might” 

Aziraphale shifted the hand he’d been grasping the base of Crowley’s wing with to stroke along feathers instead. Crowley inhaled sharply at the touch. 

“Go ahead and touch mine. Do whatever you need to reassure yourself I’m fine.” 

Crowley looked away but moved his hands so he could touch the darker feathers on Aziraphale. His face softened slightly, some of the worry leaving. “The texture is similar to your other feathers, but there’s a different feel to them. They feel like when I touch mine, but they’re not _mine_. They’re not just pulled from my wings. They’re yours. But different. But it doesn’t feel demonic exactly either.” 

“I could say the same of yours. The gold on black is very dashing. They don’t feel holy exactly, but they don’t feel demonic either. Your regular feathers, they definitely feel of you. I don’t really have other demon’s feathers to compare them with of course, but you have a certain aura to you.” 

“And you do too. Though I feel it less usually then… ngn… can I… this will sound weird.” 

“I. Was. In. Your. Body.” 

“Point taken. But still…. Can I smell your wings?” 

“Ah.. . yes. That does _sound_ weird outloud, but I understand.” 

Crowley pushed himself up to a sitting position and pulled Aziraphale into his lap so he could get better access to his wings and back. He ran a hand along the joint of the wing, pushing fingers under the edge of feathers to lift them up a little. He leaned in close and let his forked tongue flicker down into space between to get the strongest scent. Aziraphale shuddered and Crowley suddenly became acutely aware he’d pulled him into his LAP. 

“Ngk.” 

Aziraphale ran a hand along his calf. “Continue, but maybe not direct contact this time? Unless you’re trying to start something.” 

“Nngn.” 

“I’m going to go with “no”. We’ll come back to this later.” He gave Crowley a pat on the leg. 

Crowley nodded enthusiastically and tried to focus on scent. Aziraphale’s overall scent he was very familiar with, though his usual cologne had gone missing for now. His normal ethereal scent reminded him of a high, open meadow on a cold, sunny winter day with wind sweeping away your breath, the sort of day that seemed too beautiful to be real. There was now a bit of a grassy note like fresh cut clover hay drying in that same field. All over, but mostly on wings, there was that sense of something holy and uncorruptable that was almost the absence of a scent rather than one in its own right. The only real smell to his wings themselves was petrichor, though Crowley was less sure if that was true and more of a memory. Which might as well be the same thing considering it was part of Aziraphale’s ethereal body. 

He focused on the darker patches which had a faint hint of the sort of smokiness he generally associated with demons, which made his stomach drop. But there was no sulfur tone to it. It smelled more of extinguished wood in a campfire or the rather neutral tone of the charcoal he mixed into soil for some of his plants. And that was how it seemed to his more occult senses as well, neutral. Not a lack of scent like came with that holiness, but more such layered complexity that it ended up cancelling out any overwhelming notes to produce this pleasant and welcoming scent of _potential_. 

He brought his face right down by the border between the two colors, ruffling fingers through feathers to get down to the skin, which made Aziraphale twitch a little. “That’s not entirely pleasant.” 

“Sorry, trying to get a better scent without being quite so tickly. I’ll straighten them when I’m done.” 

“I’d like that.” 

Crowley went back to focusing on that transition between the two. It didn’t seem like the dark portions were demonic or corrupted. They seemed a part of Aziraphale as much as his regular feathers. They had a presence rather than a _lack_ of one. Crowely ran fingers along vanes, straightening out what he’d mussed and then impulsively rubbed his cheek along them. 

Aziraphale chuckled under him. “I take it you like what you found?” 

“Ngn... “ 

“You’re going to have to tell me now, not just think real hard at me.” 

“Right. That’d be much easier.” Crowley could feel his face had gone rather red. “It’s not demonic. They’re not exactly holy though. Well, I guess they might be, it's a similar sort of no-scent. But its active now? Not passive? If that makes sense, which it probably doesn’t. Like what I’d call you normal holiness smells like potting soil in the bag and the dark part smells like outdoor garden soil.” 

“I smell like _dirt_?” He sounded amused. 

Crowley huffed. “Yes, a little, but mostly it’s an analogy. Like dirt vs a garden.” 

“A garden.” Aziraphale sounded even more amused. 

“Let me try again. Maybe taste would work better for you. Hmm. Imagine you’ve got a bottle of water. It's clear and clean and you know it’s good water, but it’s just there. It’s good, but it's stale. Now imagine tilting your head up as it starts to rain and what that tastes like. That bottle of water ultimately came out of the sky but it's still now. They both should taste very neutral, capable of giving life to things, but in practice they taste very different. The experience is very different and so they taste different.” 

“Hmm, interesting. You said it didn’t smell demonic. What do demons smell like to you?” 

“I don’t know what I smell like exactly. I can smell some of it in the flat when I’ve been away and come back. Definitely smell of reptile. I know what other demons smell like and can recognize that I share that sort of smoke and sulfur scent. A lot just smell overwhelmingly pungent, often in ways that have no earthly equivalent. You can smell evil. What does it smell like to you?” 

“I’m not in the habit of sniffing any other demons.” 

“You don’t want…. Hey now. Habit of?” 

“I’m in your _lap_.” 

“Ngk.” 

There was a chuckle and a hand was run along Crowley’s calf, though it was clearly meant more to sooth him this time. 

“Evil has always smelled like something misplaced. Yes, it does sometimes just smell _bad_ as well. Some of your former colleagues I can easily avoid because of that. But mostly misplaced. Like opening your sock drawer and finding there’s a block of limburger cheese in there instead. Or going to get water from a barrel you thought was full of clean rain water and finding it’s also full of rotted leaves.” Crowley made a vague gagging noise at that. “But the rotted leaves or the cheese, those might be fine somewhere else. But not there. “ 

“And what do I smell like to you?” 

“Mostly snake. Which admittedly, most people never want to smell anywhere. I’ve gotten rather fond of it though. And you do usually also smell of dirt. Which is why I was so amused.” 

“I should wash more is what you’re saying.” 

“I do rather enjoy a garden that smells of snake.” 

“Ngk” 

Aziraphale laughed at him and Crowley gave him a slight swat on his shoulder, with no force behind it. Which just got him a kiss on the calf where he had feathers marks along them and he made a choking noise. 

“Dearest, you were with me all day and privy to all my thoughts about you and you still seem utterly shocked by all this. I _had_ thought you were interested.” 

“You’re just so… I mean it's _you_ , but you’re just being so much more… direct.” 

“We always had to maintain that veil of plausible deniability. In all matters. So I was maybe vaguer than I should have been, which was entirely too rough on your heart. Surely I hadn’t meant what I said, it was just a slip of the tongue or a misunderstanding of how language had changed. Now you know I mean it, so it’s cast everything in a new light.” 

“So you’re saying you’ve been flirting with me for awhile and I’m just dense.” 

“Scared would be more accurate.” 

“I’m a…” 

“I know. You’re very scary in your own right. But also scared to let things progress, because of what our sides might have done to you, to me, scared of what our sides might have done to us, separately, to keep us from being together. ” 

“Yes. To both. You’re right here now, but also… together we didn’t have to struggle for words. It was just there. I could _feel_ it. I didn’t have to guess.” 

“Not that it was entirely seamless. I think some of the things we absorbed from each other before we figured out how to do so smoothly… We might have difficulty sorting out some of those memories as to whether they truly belong to us or to well… I guess they do belong to us now. As one. It may not really matter if they originated in you or me, they’re _ours_ now.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” 

“But I didn’t give you good ones.” 

Aziraphale smiled at him. “I’m glad to know you have good ones to give. But I’m sure I also gave you bad ones. It was all a chaotic mess. They were things I might have told you anyway, eventually, but now you know them, even if you didn’t want them.” 

“S’alright” 

“Lets stop apologizing to each other for it. We didn’t exactly know all the risks up front, but we certainly knew there would be consequences for sharing. So we’ll just share those evenly, shall we?” 

“I think you came out a bit worse for wear.” 

“I started this whole thing with NO corporation whatsoever, so I think I rather came out ahead. Now we just need to figure out how to hang onto these as I don’t think our former sides are going to be pleased with us and certainly aren’t going to issue new ones.” 

“I think they’re going to try and outright destroy us. Destroying corporation is just a side effect of that.” 

“Mmm, yes. Heaven will likely try and make me Fall, but that’s not really up to them it seems. Otherwise I’m sure Gabriel would have arranged it as soon as he returned. Hmmm.” 

“If he can’t just order it… he’s going to be pissed. What would he do instead?” 

“Torture probably. There are certain things that can be done. I would very much like to keep a corporation, so I can enjoy Earth… and you…” He ran a hand up Crowley’s calf again, with only a minor squeak from Crowley. “But we have been together in a very different way for the last day, more intimate than perhaps anyone else could be. I’m not sure Gabriel can hold onto me to punish me unless he puts a great deal of imagination into it.” 

“Well that’s not something he has a lot of, so maybe we’ll be fine, just corporation-less.” 

“Or in something non-human. Adam was effectively a whole landscape. Oh my, there is something extremely fitting there of you perhaps being something similar.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley on the inside of his thigh and he shuddered. “Perhaps a garden. Or an _orchard_.” 

“I… maybe that would work. I don’t think they would even consider that. Can’t hold us if we can be of the world itself. But I do like what we have had, I’d just like… more of what we had? But to know you wanted it with me now?” 

“So more dinner and alcohol and theatre and feeding the ducks?” 

“All those things, with you. And maybe some other things too?” 

“Other things that would involve current corporations?” 

“You had some definite _ideas_ I picked up on…” 

“I do believe you had said something about getting your hands on all this goodness.” 

Crowley could definitely feel himself turning red. “I meant it, I’m just not… words are hard!” 

“Well then use your mouth to tell me some other way.” 

“ANGEL.” 

Aziraphale gave him another kiss on his thigh “Kiss me back, you idiot.” 

“Oh.” Crowley had a moment where his brain went blank, trying to figure out how to kiss Aziraphale on the mouth when he was in his lap and finally restarted enough to move on to what he could reach. Aziraphale had reacted strongly to it before… he went for kissing him at the wing joint and then rubbing his cheek against his feathers. Aziraphale made a deep noise in his lap and Crowley fell over backwards at that sensation. It pinned his own wings under him rather uncomfortably. 

“Don’t you _dare_ pass out.” Crowley had never heard Aziraphale actually _growl_ before and that really didn’t help matters. 

“I might just discorporate instead.” Crowley's voice had gone up nearly a whole octave. He wiggled to get wings into a more comfortable position, squirming under Aziraphale’s weight. 

Aziraphale had been in the process of kissing his thigh again but he paused and looked up at Crowley. “If it really is too much, I can stop.” 

“Don’t you dare!” 

“Well then…” He really was doing that looking through the eyelashes thing on purpose. _The bastard._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I will leave you with a fade out like a big ol’ bastard so as not wildly change the rating on this fic! Assume some Efforts were made!
> 
> Oops, you've got some Crowley in my Aziraphale. And some Aziraphale in my Crowley! I'm sure its FINE.
> 
> oh wait, they didn't receive that choosing faces prophecy. Hmmm. I'M SURE IT'S FINE.


	9. Absence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that they've taken note of what's been added, they're starting to notice what's missing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's vaguely some sex in the first few paragraphs, but its really pretentious and flowery and not at all explicit, so I didn't change rating. I've read racier summaries on the backs of romances.

Perhaps this hadn’t been the wisest choice, but it had felt very RIGHT. There was that feeling of almost togetherness, of connection, but while finally in their own bodies. More or less. 

They could feel out the edges of themself and each other, reaquaint themselves with which of them was which. Remember whose body belonged to who while also gifting it to the other. To sort out what sensation belonged to who and chase that pleasure. Please, please come touch me again. Know me and recognize me as being other than yourself while also pulling me tight to you so I might feel how you are both the same and different as me. To delight in that difference and how it fit together. In several different ways and with a great deal of enthusiasm. 

They’d ended up rather sticky, in the most human of ways. They were loath to get up, but otherwise they were going to end up stuck together and not in a fun way. They chuckled as they both went to clean themselves off and then looked at each other with a grin. “Swap you.” 

A miracle was used to clean the other one up. If they were being monitored, it was rather clear what they’d been up to. Might as well get in trouble for things they _had_ done, rather than things they _might_ do. 

They’d attempted to put wings away fairly early in the process since it had a level of complexity they weren’t equipped to handle just yet. They hadn’t stayed tucked away as they were apparently very sensitive to being stroked along the new marks on each other, resulting in them spilling back out of their corporeal forms. There’d been quite a bit of giggling at getting unexpectedly bopped with a wing. 

Aziraphale’s markings vanished once his wings were away, his ethereal body safely tucked away into his corporation and no longer visible. 

Crowley’s had stayed. They grew fainter and less distinct, but they were still there. The damage had been done to both bodies at once and so was not so easily packed away. The feather marks lost their clear edges and he looked like he’d been dusted in gold where he was marked. The handprint was still clearly a hand, though blurred around edges. The wing line along the back was rather clear. 

Now that they were cleaned up, Crowley sat up so Aziraphale could trace around edges of smaller feather markings on his back, so he knew where the edges he couldn’t see were. 

“Well, no tank tops and sandals for me unless I want to look like an aging club kid with an addiction to body glitter.” 

“Only half of those words made sense, my dear.” He softly stroked along the line of his back, feeling the tension in Crowley. 

“It’s not so bad, I guess. Not worse than what I already have. I can hide it if I want. Flaunt it if I want.” 

“Do you want?” 

“I think not yet. It’s...new.” Crowley inhaled deeply. “I need time to adjust to the idea. I don’t know entirely how I feel about it. I like… I like the handprint. I’m not sure how I feel about the rest yet. And I don’t want people touching the wing marks. Well, I don’t think you do either. “ 

“We probably should get dressed and find out how sensitive they are with clothes on. We got a little… distracted.” 

“Yeah. A little.” There was a little blush there and Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him closer to him. He kissed Crowley on the nape of neck. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know. Beautiful in all your variation. Were before marks. Are still. Will be if you change again. Hmmm.” 

“What?” Crowley squirmed a little. 

“Since changes seem to have mostly been to the occult body, I should like to see what your other body looks like.” 

“My other body?” 

“As a serpent.” 

“Oh, right. That.” 

“I’m not sure how that exactly works for you, if that’s really more your occult body, a physical one, or a bit of both.” 

“I don’t actually know. I guess part of my physical body? Since you were a snake? Unless you can do that now too?” 

“I might be able to, but I’m not sure how.”

“I don’t want you to get stuck like that.” 

“Perhaps another time then. Do you feel up to it?” 

“Probably best to know.” 

“Come then, lean back on me. I should like to get to touch you with actual hands.” 

“I feel weird about actually shapeshifting ON you.” 

“I did on you earlier.” 

“I guess you did. How did it feel?” 

“Confusing. But no more so than anything else that happened in the last day.” 

“So not… unpleasant?” There was a slight bit of anxiousness to tone. 

“No, not at all. I was slightly distracted though. If I was paying attention to the process it might have seemed odder.” 

“You’re sure it's fine?” 

“Show me all of you.” 

“It’s just… hard.” 

“I know.” He gave Crowley another kiss on the nape of his neck. “And I really do mean that. I do _know_ how hard it is for you. And you know how I feel about you.” 

“I do. It’s just different with being separate again. There’s that thread of doubt that I’m not part of you now. I have trouble loving myself, so how can you?” 

“I was in your body all day, even was a snake for part of it. And you loved me and adored me in what was your body. So can you direct some of that back at yourself?” 

Crowley took a deep, shuddering breath. “Only if you do the same.” 

“Deal. Now show me all of you.” 

“I'm still not sure I want to shapeshift on you. I’m not sure how weight will settle. I’m not light.” 

“Neither am I.” 

“Looks good on you. I did like your body.” 

“I’m sturdy. I promise not to drop you.” Aziraphale gave him a little squeeze around his waist. 

“You managed earlier when I panicked, so... alright.” 

Aziraphale settled back in the bed and Crowley turned around. He loosely draped himself over Aziraphale’s chest, resting his head over where the serpent's head would sit when visible. He wiggled a little to try to loosen himself up. Aziraphale rested a hand on small of his back, applying just enough pressure so that when he shifted he shouldn’t slide down his chest. 

Crowley relaxed hold on his form in much the same way he would when letting wings out, just a different part of self. He felt human form slough off, the warmth of flesh peel away. It morphed instead into a sense in its own right, letting him feel the warmth of Aziraphale against him, a soft radiance against the cooler air of the room. Eyesight dimmed and the world softened as perception of scent and heat took over, blurring the edges between objects. Time blurred slightly as he now saw where things had recently been in contact with each other. Aziraphale’s body blurred with the scent of close contact with Crowley’s human form. The entire bed smelled of them and the faint bit of heat left from where they’d been tangled in sheets further blurred the edge of where they were distinct from the world around them. 

The hand behind him curled underneath and he could feel the pressure of fingers on his softer belly scales. He could easily flex and slide across it as he was offered a firm perch to do just that. 

“My dear, can I touch the rest of you?” 

He rubbed his head against Aziraphale’s chest and then slid further onto him, enjoying the warmth and scent of him. There was that grassy hay-like note and rain scent faintly on him despite his wings no longer being out. And the more human body scents of sweat and sex. 

Hands were run along the length of him, warm and sure. Aziraphale lifted him slightly so he could more clearly visually examine each coil. Crowley squirmed a little under the attention, but Aziraphale’s hands were firm and soft at same time, holding Crowley like he was one of his cherished books. 

“I don’t seem to have marked you in quite the same way as human body. There’s a scattering of gold on you, mostly on your belly. I think you moved enough times when you were coiled around me I didn’t leave such clear impressions.” He carefully pressed his hand to him here and there. “I think these were from when I held onto you tight when you were around my neck. They’re not clear handprints like they were on your chest, probably because you moved under my hand. But you are marked quite a bit. I’m not sure if you have the same wing marks on you. I haven’t felt quite the same touch yet, but I am not sure exactly where they would sit on you.” 

Crowley made a noise at that, somehow…. Disappointed. Aziraphale stroked him reassuringly and leaned forward a little to press a kiss to scales. The warmth of that made the kiss feel so much larger than it did in his human body. 

“It haven’t quite finished checking you. That might actually be a good thing since they’re a bit sensitive. That might be very distracting if they were somewhere that would be touched directly when you were slithering around.” 

Logical, but disappointing. He wound his head around and nudged at Aziraphale’s neck with his snout to get him to pick his head up. He slid beneath his neck and around out to his shoulder. Aziraphale stiffened under him and he hissed slightly, feeling as if he was being touched all over. 

“That I rather clearly felt the weight of you on the base. Let me sit up.” 

He carefully put both hands on Crowley to support the coils of him as he wound himself back around to make another loop around his neck. This pass around the second coil dipped lower on his back and Crowley felt as if he’d been lightly stroked the whole length of him. Aziraphale made a confused noise at the same time. 

“That is very disorienting. It feels like I’ve got yours as well this way. I thought the first touch was lighter, not quite the same as when the mark was touched earlier. When the second coil dropped lower, that’s definitely mine being touched. I feel like I have two sets. What a tangled mess we are.” 

Crowley hissed slightly at that. Nothing had felt clearly to him as if a wing was being touched. It had been an all over sensation. He bumped his nose against Aziraphale. 

“My dear, I am sorry for stealing your wings like this. That seems unforgivable.” 

Crowley bumped him with nose and stuck his tongue in his ear which made Aziraphale fall over backwards with giggles 

_“ANTHONY._ ” 

He got a tongue in ear again. 

“YOU _FIEND_.” 

Crowley resettled back with his head over Aziraphale’s heaving chest. 

“I’m glad you aren’t mad.” 

Crowley squeezed slightly, though having his neck squeezed by a giant snake likely would have been less than reassuring for just about anyone else. 

“It's all been, rather a lot. These are rather dramatic changes. That we don’t understand the significance of. I expect we’ll keep finding more for a while yet. Perhaps if it turns out I can shapeshift now, you’ll get the same sensation of both sets. Though what would happen if we’re both snakes? Maybe only one of us can be a snake at a time. I have so many questions.” 

Crowley bumped his head into hand, encouraging Aziraphale to stroke him. 

“Getting me to ask so many questions without you even saying a word. Clever serpent.” 

“I can communicate.” Mouth didn’t move, but he made himself clear in a similar fashion as he perceived things, the edges of self rubbing up against Aziraphale in a way that the message became part of another. Less words and more an impression of them whispered into the back of consciousness. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Indistinct. In a good way. We are together and not. In the past and now and future.” 

“This is a little disorienting for me, my dear. Is this how you would speak with humans?” 

“Yes no. More together. Clearer.” 

“It’s the opposite of clear. I feel like everything you’re communicating is all at once, as if you were talking over yourself. I can understand it, but it’s just...odd. Like that a mix of tuning out background noise while simultaneously hyperfocusing on several things at once.” 

“Yes.” Crowley bumped head against his hand. Aziraphale obliged with rubbing his thumb along the scale just over the eye. 

Aziraphale chuckled at him. “Told you you’d like how warm I am.” 

“Yes. Part of you becomes me without diminishing you. Warm good.” 

“That’s… I don’t have words. I hope I get to keep you warm often.” Now Aziraphale was the one blushing. He just stoked Crowley for a few minutes as the snake pushed into his hands, enjoying that connection. He finally cleared his throat slightly. 

“Unfortunately, I do think we will have to deal with our sides rather soon. I’d prefer to have trousers on for that.” 

Crowley hissed at that, but slid off Aziraphale’s shoulders and onto the bed beside him before shifting back. Aziraphale rested a hand on his bare calf, stroking a thumb along him. 

“We do have to deal with it all eventually. I don’t think our sides are going to be happy.” 

“Bit murderous, most likely.” Crowley was talking into the bed, taking a moment to adjust to having limbs again and the shift in senses. He felt less connected to Aziraphale this way with sight and sound dominating and other senses receding. Aziraphale keeping a hand on him was grounding. 

“Rather likely. At least you can probably get yours a little less peeved as you can claim you were corrupting me.” 

“I will do no such thing.” Crowley propped himself up so he could look over his shoulder at Aziraphale. 

“Anthony, if it saves you…” His voice was terribly soft and his face worried. 

“You have me convinced you aren’t Fallen and it's going to stay that way.” 

“You stubborn…” There was a slight exasperated look there, but the tone indicated it was said with love. 

“You brought up to Beelzebub that there’d be _paperwork_ and there’s not, so end of argument. It’s a lie I can’t pull off and don’t want to either.” 

“Alright, dear.” Aziraphale gave him a soft pat on his calf. 

Crowley rolled over and sat up so he could look squarely at Aziraphale. “You’re not going to argue?” 

“You’re right. It’s not a viable plan. And I do understand your feelings on the subject. Understand mine that I would also do anything to spare you if I could.” He could see how seriously the angel was taking it. 

“I would too.” 

“I know. You’re always saving me. My own guardian angel.” There was that terribly tender look again, now on the right face. Crowley tucked his head down, coloring a bit. 

“Shut it. Angels are wankers.” 

“Guardian demon then.” 

“That’s worse.” 

“Wily old serpent.” Crowley looked back up at that tender expression and just wanted more of that. His breath hitched in his chest before smiling back, shyly, seeing Aziraphale’s eyes light up at his expression. 

“I will accept that one. Though I think you’re rather more clever than I am.” 

“We’re both going to have to be the clever one. And honest with each other to get out of this.” 

“That’s… a bit more difficult.” Crowley kept eye contact and scooted a bit closer to Aziraphale, so he could rest a hand on his thigh. 

“I know. Even sharing a body, we still were hiding things from each other.” 

“We’re both so stubborn we should be the thing they use to compare stubborn things to. Be all metaphorical.” 

“Stubborn as a Crowley would be a simile, dear.” 

“Always confuse those two. Gotta keep you around to remind me what the difference is.” 

“I should like to be around a lot longer.” Aziraphale moved his hand from Crowley’s calf to rest it on top of his hand instead. 

“Stubborn angel. More stubborn than all the rest though?” 

“Perhaps. But being flexible might be a bit wiser.” 

“What should we do then, oh wise one?” 

“Well, running I don’t think is a long term solution. It also implies guilt. Which we _did_ things, but I am not guilty about them.” 

“Even…?” 

“Especially not that.” Aziraphale picked up Crowley’s hand and kissed his knuckles, looking at him through lashes and he really was such a _bastard._

Crowley coughed slightly and knew he was turning bright red. 

“Good to know.” 

Aziraphale gave another little smile and then released his hand so he could get up and dress. Clothes were given a rather more careful inspection as they went on than they’d gotten coming off. Aziraphale made a few disapproving tuts at wrinkles from where clothing had been dropped on the floor. 

“Running also does then set up the dynamic of chasing. We’re running… so of course they should chase. Like throwing a ball by a dog. I think we do want to control some of how this plays out, but we don’t want to initiate them hunting us.” 

“Should we report in directly?” 

“Hmmm, perhaps. It does rather let us control the when and where of what happens. I’d just rather prefer not to have it happen either in Heaven or Hell. They have rather the advantage there.” 

“There is something to be said for the sheer brashness of it.” Crowley got up and retrieved the discarded robe from the floor while he went to go stare in the closet and contemplate the appropriate look. 

“There is. It does give something of the impression of guilt however and that we might be seeking forgiveness.” 

“Forgiveness is your lot.” 

“Yes well, I think they’re going to be in a bit more of a smitey kind of mood than forgiving.” 

“You don’t say?” 

“I did goad Gabriel intentionally. Fortunately, he’s not that imaginative. If I neither run nor volunteer for punishment, he may well be unable to figure out what to do next. Unfortunately, he isn’t the only one to worry about, so he’ll likely take whatever suggestion is first presented to him, even if its stupid.” 

“You calling your boss dumb?” 

“No, since I don’t think I should continue acknowledging him as my _boss_ for one. But otherwise, well, God seems to have unevenly distributed the intelligence among all her angels.” 

Crowley barked out a laugh at that. He pulled out his jacket from yesterday and made a face at it. It was perfectly clean but also… There was a sense-memory there of all the things that had happened. 

“Problems, dear?” 

“Just… I get what you’re always on about with you’ll _know._ ” 

“Ah. I understand. Perhaps something different then?” 

“This is….familiar. I’m not sure I’m up to coming up with an entirely different way to be seen. This is familiar, so in some ways, I’m not actually seen.” 

“Well you have a little while yet. I’m redressed, so perhaps take a moment and we’ll see if I can still feel you touching me through everything. Give you an idea what you need to do practically.” 

“Since when have I ever dressed for _function_?” 

“True. That’s more me.” 

Crowley turned around and gave him A Look. 

“It's a perfectly functional suit for what I’m normally doing.” 

“Fine, fine. Let me come see if its skin to skin contact that sets it off, or a coat is enough to protect you.” 

Aziraphale nodded slightly and primmly laced hands together before turning around, letting Crowley come up behind him. There was a bit of stiffness in his back that indicated he wasn’t quite as relaxed about this as he appeared. 

Crowley rested his hands on his shoulders for a moment, then ran one hand down over back stroking along the line of where he knew the wing marks should be. Aziraphale slowly relaxed under his hands as Crowley made no indication he was reacting to touch. He switched hands to repeat along the other side. Aziraphale made a pleased little noise, but it seemed more just a reaction to being stroked as he leaned back into Crowley a little bit. 

Crowley switched where he had hands and stroked along the line of where Aziraphale’s wings should sit. Aziraphale wiggled a tiny bit at it and Crowley leaned in and kissed the back of his neck, which made Aziraphale gasp. 

“NOW I feel it.” Aziraphale sounded a little breathless. 

“Should I keep up what I was doing?” 

“I just got dressed, dear.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Tempting, but I think we do need to prepare. Also it's faded a bit now that you’ve been talking to me.” 

Crowley went back to rubbing hands along the line of wings. 

“Only faintly there now. I have to focus.” 

“Sooooooooo….” Crowley leaned in and kissed him on the back of the neck again. 

“Ah yes. Though if you keep it up, you’re going to be eating feathers in a moment.” 

“Not _again_. Perhaps I should get a taste of my own medicine then.” He slid his hands up to where he knew dark marks were and kissed along Aziraphale’s hairline. He felt nothing initially but as Aziraphale made more little pleased noises at it, he could start feeling something at the base of his own wings, though not the clear sensation he got with bare skin. 

“Got a little something, but barely there. Might require you to relax enough that you’re not pulled as tight into form. Maybe. You can try me next and see how sensitive I am through my robe.” 

“No one should be able to touch me like that when I have wings pulled in. It may just be unique to us.” 

“And you didn’t feel anything til I kissed you?” 

“Correct.” 

“Gonna try kissing you on your back, angel” 

“If you get wings in the face, it's your own fault.” 

“Worth it” Crowley shifted his hand downward to run fingertips over where Aziraphale’s wings should sit. He made a brief noise at that and Crowley ducked down to kiss him where the wing should connect with back. The heavy coat kept him from feeling anything clearly from kiss other than the texture of the fabric. Aziraphale sighed slightly, but there was no dramatic reaction similar to the earlier kiss on the back of his neck. 

“I know you did something, but really hands are much clearer.” 

“Interesting. I think maybe clothing might be enough to insulate from casual touch then, at least from anything except each other.” 

“Well, you have a robe that’s much easier to get on and off, so we can see how you react. I suspect you might be a bit more sensitive.” 

“Alright then, your turn to risk getting wings in the face then.” Crowley stepped back from him and turned around. He could hear Aziraphale turn around and then there were arms being wrapped around his waist. 

“And what if I like that?” As he got kissed on back right along where wings would connect, sensation clear through thin robe. Crowley squeaked as he could feel Aziraphale twist his head and rub cheek against the base of unmanifested wings. 

“Gonna get that at this rate. Robe’s not much help.” 

“Let me try against bare skin for comparison.” 

“Weren’t you the one saying you just got dressed?” 

“Well you aren’t. Lots of things to be done that way.” There was a near purr to voice. Aziraphale gave him another kiss along the line of wing, rubbing a hand along the other one. Crowley had to fight to not manifest wings at the intensity of that. 

“You stop that.” 

“Please be honest with me. Do you actually mean that, or are you saying stop and mean continue?” Aziraphale had stopped moving for the moment, but Crowley could still feel the phantom touch of a hand against the base of his wing. 

“Ngnnn. I really feel like if you keep it up, you ARE getting a faceful of wings and I’m interested in how and why and at same time I also I don’t like being this sensitive.” 

“You are wearing considerably less than I am. So understandable. But I think I have an idea why as well, if you trust me to proceed.” 

“I trusted you to share my body, so… alright. You’re being pushy because you want to protect me.” 

“Exactly. Let me test something out.” Aziraphale shifted slightly behind Crowley, putting another kiss at the base of unmanifested wings. He slid his hand around to untie the sash on Crowley’s robe, letting it fall open. He slid a warm hand in to put it over the handprint on Crowley’s chest. He kissed Crowley at the base of wings again and that was enough to make wings fully manifest. There was a rather undignified noise from both of them, then some giggling from Aziraphale. 

“It’s not funny.” Crowley’s tone was more worried than annoyed. 

“Dearest, when you were touching me before, I couldn’t really feel that much until I started to relax and let you in. Same here. I asked you to trust me, and _you did_ , then I could touch you in a much more intimate way once you allowed me into your space. The clothes weren’t a barrier then as I was allowed to touch _you_.” 

“Ah, not sure how that helps?” 

“Unless you’ve been holding out on me that you have someone else you’d allow in so close, _allow_ touch by, I think they will be firmly on the outside of you. And clothes just assist in firmly defining that boundary.” 

“I still don’t think I want to risk anyone accidentally touching any of this.” 

“Probably a wise precaution. It should help focus your mental and emotional defenses. So whatever else would make you feel more insulated, use that.” 

Crowley made a slight noise at that, considering. He pulled his wings back in and made an amused little sniff noise at Aziraphale’s noise of disappointment. 

“I think I mostly want a familiar outfit then. Maybe not what I had yesterday though. That’s… that had a lot attached to it.” 

“Something a bit retro then?” 

“I am not going to wear a full Victorian suit to match you.” 

“You did look very dashing then. Probably a bit too formal for these days. Even I don’t have the hat and gloves.” 

“Just the everything else.” 

“I have updated it. Somewhat.” 

“It's a good look.” There was a terrible fondness to tone. 

“Thank you. Now, you claimed you did have some actual clothing, so perhaps pick from that to give you something familiar, but not too familiar. Or alter what you already have.” 

“I do know how to dress myself.” 

“You do. I am merely making suggestions so you don’t have to come up with something entirely on your own. Make things… a little easier is all.” 

“Alright, you’re trying. Rummage in my closet and you can make some suggestions while I sort out underthings situation in the bathroom where I can use a mirror to see if I’m covered the way I want.” 

Aziraphale went to investigate what kind of real clothes Crowley had. Crowley grabbed the contents of the underwear drawer and headed off to the bathroom to try several combinations of underwear and undershirt in the mirror to see what provided him with full coverage of markings. 

Seeing himself in the mirror, alone, was different than having seen them from the outside of his body or with Aziraphale’s reassuring presence there. This was the first time they were out of each other’s sight since they stopped sharing a single corporation. Crowley was half tempted to return to the bedroom immediately to make sure he was still there, but then heard Aziraphale rummaging in the closet and humming softly. That was enough reassurance for now. 

He put his own hand over the handprint on his chest. He was a little conflicted about the whole experience, despite earlier bravado. He’d clearly been marked. It hadn’t been intentional on either or their parts, but it still hadn’t been something they’d agreed to. It had just…. happened. That almost made it worse. He hadn’t intended any of this to happen. Sure Aziraphale had said he was beautiful, had touched him with such passion, but would he come to his senses? Would he resent having been similarly marked? 

Well similarly and differently marked. That Aziraphale could hide his seemed… unfair. He could ignore them entirely if he liked. All these millenia of being on earth in a body being able to hide his angelic markings and Crowley stuck clearly showing his demonic ones… this was more of the same. Now Crowley was covered in more gold markings than Aziraphale had ever had to put up with. Gold eyes, gold handprint, gold on back, gold on feet, and all Aziraphale had was… what the hell DID Aziraphale have? There hadn’t been a spot of gold on him... 

Crowley tugged on boxer briefs and a t-shirt that he tucked into the waistband. Which became untucked the moment he scooped up the other clothes. He put them back down and ran hands over where the shirt and briefs met, giving a brief snap and sideways tug to merge things together into a singlet. That would keep him from showing off anything he didn’t feel like showing. 

He came back to the bedroom and stuffed clothes back in the drawer haphazardly and then paused to neatly rearrange them in nervousness. He retrieved a pair of dress socks from the other drawer and pulled them on. Aziraphale was still humming softly as he laid out clothes for him on bed. 

“Aziraphale... ?” 

“Yes?” he turned around. “Oh that should work nicely, dear.” 

“I had a… I’m all marked up.” Crowley chewed at his lip. 

“I know. I apologize.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Not in the same way. But I am marked” 

“You… you didn’t have any gold on you. Like angels normally do.” 

“Of course I do. My sword hand, on the palm.” 

“You don’t. Not anymore.” Crowley tried to keep his voice steady, but the anxiety clearly came through anyway. 

“Oh. Um. Hmm.” Aziraphale looked at his palm. He didn’t have wings manifested, so none of it would show, but he was looking at the absence anyway, seeing his hands without that angelic mark. His expression was strangely neutral, as if he couldn’t decide what to feel, so felt nothing at all. 

“Did you… did you realize you gave it to me?” Crowley had his hand over his chest. 

“I didn’t know any of this would happen.” Aziraphale stepped closer, voice soft and gentle. 

“I… what if I stole it?” 

“You did _not_.” Aziraphale gave him an exasperated look, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

“But you didn’t know. You didn’t intend. And now it's here and… it was yours. From Her. I stole it and… and tainted you.” Crowley’s voice was getting thick and rough. 

“We already covered that. I’m not tainted anymore than you are.” 

“It's just… it's just hard. I.. don’t have mine. The original ones. All this” He made a sweeping gesture at his body. “is new. All of what happened… just on display. But not… not what was taken.” 

“Can you tell me where you were marked… Before?” 

Crowley covered his face with his hands and just shook his head. 

“Don’t remember or don’t want to?” 

“I remember… but… I just can’t. It’s… I’m just covered in this, everywhere but there and now you have nothing and it's not _fair._ ” There was a bit of sob in voice and Crowley desperately didn’t want to cry again over this. 

Aziraphale was suddenly right there, gently pulling hands away from his face. “I can’t really understand that loss. You held that back from me because it hurt so much. Just showed me how much it hurt. But I haven’t been hurt like that. I’m fine. I really am. Believe me. But this clearly hurts you. And I want to do what I can to make it hurt less. Tell me what you want to tell me. Or nothing at all. Whatever will help.” Crowley looked at that earnest face and just flung his arms around Aziraphale. Arms got wrapped around him as he talked into Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“It’s not fair. I asked questions. Hung around with wrong people and then I’m Falling. I didn’t do the wrong thing, I never thought I did, but I’m punished for questions, for doubts, ripped away and _burned._ It hurt so much. Just fighting that, to be. Hellfire is supposed to burn away the doubts, the uncertainty, eventually the memories ‘til you don’t remember the pain that made you, what made you you. I couldn’t let go of what made me _me_. And I came out of that with no markings and just still full of questions and doubts. And now I’m covered in this and just as full of questions and doubts and no closer to… no closer to… its all, it's all a show. There’s nothing there, I’m still… ” 

Aziraphale stroked his hair and let him cry into his shoulder. “You’re still full of questions. Saved the world with them even. “Do we kill Adam?” Think of how I dithered over that, unable to even ask the proper question. How I started with the answer, the wrong answer at that, and forgot the question was important. You’re just what the world needs my dear.” 

“If you bring up ineffability…” 

“No, not this time, my dear. That’s… insulting. This isn’t Heaven reasserting some claim on you. Anymore than the markings on me give Hell a claim on me. We’re our own side. You didn’t steal my mark because that wasn't my mark from Her. I was marked on the palm and fingers, like I’d closed my hand around something. I’d always assumed a sword from the pattern. That full open hand… that’s not what I had. It’s _more_ than what I had. And now it's yours.” Aziraphale gave him a kiss on the top of his head and Crowley tried to burrow into his shoulder. 

“I should like to have discussed this before we did any of this, but well, I’m not sure how we would have discussed _any_ of that, let alone actually done it afterward. “Want to mark each other as ours by sharing a body while standing in a blazing ley line during the Apocalypse?” 

“That sounds bloody stupid.” 

“And we did it anyway. About standard level of idiocy for us, really.” 

“Hey.” 

“It was _your_ flaming ley line.” 

“HEY.” Crowley uncurled so he could glare ineffectively at Aziraphale. 

“It's really very clever dear, but getting in trouble for your own cleverness is rather how it goes.” 

“You went along with it!” 

“You’re very competent. I like that.” 

“You just called me an idiot a second ago.” 

“You’re complicated like that.” 

“You’re the clever idiot that went along with it.” 

“Along with you.” 

“Ngk” 

“There you are.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley on the forehead and he made an embarrassed noise. “This is going to be a bit… difficult... emotionally but I don’t intend to go anywhere. We shall deal with things together.” 

“I don’t think dealing with our employers together is going to help our cases.” 

“Perhaps not. We can coordinate and strategize, but ultimately you are probably right. Coming along to Hell with you so you can report to your superiors likely won’t improve their tempers any, unless you purposely want to antagonize them.” 

“No. I’m plenty annoying on my own. And I don’t want to deliver you to them.” 

“The same here. I do not think your presence helps my case. Though I do not intend to report in at all. If I’m going to be accused of desertion, I am going to commit to it.” 

“Aziraphale…” 

“I am very committed when I wish to be.” He gave Crowley a kiss on cheek and then released him. “But let’s get you dressed and we can discuss a more specific strategy over brunch.” 

Crowley just stood there for a moment scrubbing his arm across his face. He shook his head before coming to look at what Aziraphale had pulled out of the closet. 

These were all Crowley’s clothes he had miracled up at some point and liked enough to keep, but Aziraphale had assembled them a bit differently than he would have chosen. 

“Since the jacket was a bit of an issue, perhaps no jacket for brunch? It’s August afterall, a lighter summer look would do you good.” 

“I’ll look underdressed next to you.” 

“Well, I was thinking, perhaps, I would just leave my coat hung up here? If that’s agreeable?” 

“Oh.” 

“Is that too fast?” 

“No. I just… you’d leave it here?” 

“I do intend to be back.” His voice was very gentle. 

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gee Crowley, why did you have space for Aziraphale in your corporation anyway? Oh, right, that's where you normally store ANXIETY.
> 
> February, Sure Was a Month, but it's over now. March, you damn well better be less chaotic, I swear. This fic is getting done eventually!


	10. Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Promises are made over brunch.
> 
> Words are important.
> 
> Dagon is Big Mad over y2Crowley

Old habits are hard to break, even if you want to. Thousands of years of habit vs one day of … something that couldn’t be so neatly summed up in a word or two. They were going out together but also separate. They needed to be able to exist separately again. Crowley’s hands were shoved in his tiny little pockets in his jeans and he _hated_ it. Hated the distance between them as soon as they’d ventured outside where they might be seen. He was scowling at the sidewalk so he wouldn’t look at the angel and be tempted to move closer, take his hand, wrap his arms around him. He looked everywhere else. 

And there it was. The Bentley was right in a no parking zone, just daring some policeman to ticket it. He stopped dead and then had to go over and run hands over it to verify it was real. He could feel a subsurface echo of that last bit of Adam’s command having been executed. How fully the Bentley was restored, that would become more evident once he got to take her out for a spin. But the place Aziraphale had wanted to go to for brunch was only a block away and taking her out right away seemed a bit silly. Also, the existence of the Bentley here implied that perhaps other things had been restored, though likely not exactly to where they had been. 

“Did you… did you want to go look?” Crowley knew he sounded unsteady, just contemplating returning to the bookshop, even if it would be _with_ Aziraphale beside him. 

“I don’t think either of us are quite ready to see... that yet. We still have things to discuss.” Aziraphale was very carefully not looking at him. 

“I’ll be okay. I can…. We can go look.” Crowley forced himself to speak slower, as if everything was all right. Aziraphale looked at him and then reached out to take his hand. There was a split second of hesitation before he completed the action, and then they were holding hands. In public. 

“You’re trembling.” Aziraphale didn’t sound that steady either. “Fortify ourselves first, then go. Maybe.” 

“I thought you’d want to go right away… but we can wait? If you want?” His voice was steadier now, but very soft. 

“I got discorporated… it’s… I don’t know what we’ll find. If it’s like was in your flat… that’s...” 

“You’re the one shaking now.” Crowley pulled him close, wrapping arms around his shoulders and resting one hand on Aziraphale’s cheek. He tucked his head into Crowley’s shoulder for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. Crowley kept his head up and alert, eyes looking for threats. He relaxed hold on form just slightly, letting his tongue shift so he could suck breath in and tell if any demons were nearby. 

They were alone in a crowd. London continued on around them with all its humans but just the two of them. He closed his eyes for a moment to try and feel if anyone was observing them more distantly, but felt none of that weight of judgment pressing onto them he associated with Heavenly observation. He reopened his eyes to revert to more mundane senses. He flipped off a woman on the sidewalk that was making a sour face at them. Most people were ignoring them, carefully averting eyes from such an intimate moment. 

“No one is looking.” He tucked himself into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck, relaxing into position, letting that reassure Aziraphale and himself in turn. They were touching in public and nothing was happening. The angel tentatively wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist. 

“We’re making a scene.” It was said into his shoulder, but he made no move to stop making a scene. 

“Did you want me to let go?” 

“Don’t you dare.” Aziraphale tightened arms around him and Crowley made an undignified squeak. “Sorry.” 

“I’m made of nothing but anxiety and elbows, don’t squeeze me too hard.” Aziraphale laughed into his shoulder at that. 

“You’re made of sterner stuff than that, my dear. But I do want to treat you with all the gentleness you deserve.” He rubbed his hand gently along the small of his back. 

Crowley tucked his head further into the neck, shoulders lifting as he curled inward. “That’s what’s going to kill me.” 

“You are not allowed to die.” There was a slightly harder squeeze there. 

“I’ll do my best.” 

They stayed that way for another minute or so before untangling themselves. But now they were holding hands. And no one was paying them any attention. 

* * *

The place they’d picked for brunch was both crowded and short staffed, which was usually a recipe for disaster but compared to yesterday, nothing really compared at all. They’d ended up with a less desirable indoor spot far from the live music. It was a tiny two seater, the only space available as brunch seemed to be dominated by people in larger groups. Much of people’s memories of Armageddon had been wiped away, but the enthusiastic greetings and hugging between friends that lasted a beat or two longer than normal indicated that people were somewhat aware that they’d come close to never seeing their friends and loved ones again. 

Crowley was getting equally distracted by seeing Aziraphale out and about without his coat. Knowing it was at home, hanging up in his closet was far more grounding than it had any right to be. It was as close to a promise to come back as anything he could offer. 

He’d even rolled up his sleeves. Even though it was all the same outfit he’d worn for decades, that slight change somehow made him look much more of the time and place they were now. As if the seasons actually _mattered_. 

Crowley had ended up with a similar shirt and vest combo, though he had skipped rolling up the sleeves as it was cut rather tighter than Aziraphale’s. It was less fashionably tight than something meant to make him aware of it when he moved, make it clear that he had a barrier between him and the world. It was all blacks and grays, familiar enough to be reassuring, different enough to not remind him of the last few days. The only real difference had been Aziraphale helping him get dressed. Crowley had initially fussed that he didn’t need help, but Aziraphale had pointed out he’d bought clothes with the buttons done that way so it would be easier for someone else to take them on and off him, so, he might as well _enjoy_ it. And he had. 

The server had managed to bring them their appetizer but hadn’t gotten them anything but water yet because they kept being called away to larger, more demanding groups. It didn’t matter. It was all lovely anyway since they could sit there and hold hands on top of the table and nobody paid them any mind. 

They’d gotten something called the smoked salmon board. Aziraphale had ended up eating all the deviled eggs off it, Crowley had stolen all the pickles. They made an equitably split of the smoked salmon, stuffed olives, and the hummus. Now they were trying to figure out how the thing had been labeled gluten free when it came with pita. What kind of flour was in this pita? Aziraphale rolled his eyes at Crowley when he’d tried having a “sniff” at it with a little bit of tongue out to try and figure out ingredients before eating any of it. It had been fond exasperation though. 

Their actual orders arrived, along with the pitcher of sangria they’d been waiting on, and now there was no more delay in talking. Aziraphale started cutting up his stuffed french toast, brie oozing out edges. 

“You’ve been rather mum on specifics of what you think your side, your former side, is likely to do.” His voice was low enough to not be audible to anyone but Crowley. 

“Straight up kill me most likely.” He poked at the charred cherry tomatoes on top of his omelette, watching them ooze over it. Perhaps they hadn’t been the best choice aesthetically speaking. Too late now. 

“Anthony…” 

“They’re not that imaginative. And I did kill Ligur.” Crowley shrugged and got to cutting up omelette. 

“Who might not actually be gone.” 

“I very much did _intend_ to kill him. Even if it was self defense, I got the means to do so and went through with it having no idea he might get better later.” 

“I gave you the means to do so, I’m at least partially responsible.” 

“And that was your _job_ , to smite evil. So no mitigating circumstances. They might be mad about Armageddon and all that, but the murder, that’s the one they have to actually punish me for or it’ll all be anarchy.” 

“You sound almost as if you’ve given up.” 

“Nope.” He cut off a bit of omelette and deposited it on Aziraphale’s plate now that he’d eaten enough for there to be room on his plate. “I’m just _tired_. And anxious. All the time. Have been.” 

Aziraphale looked at him for a moment, seeing him clearly despite the sunglasses. He sighed slightly and nodded to indicate he understood. Crowley looked away as he filled their glasses from the pitcher. 

“I can’t deal with existing in that state all the time anymore. Not after this.” He reached over and briefly rested his hand on Aziraphale’s wrist. “I could bolt, but you’re right, they’ll just catch up eventually. I’m going to have to take some punishment so they can maintain order. Otherwise it will be endless personal attempts at revenge. I can _endure_ what they come up with. I can talk them down from something too drastic. My own imagination about endless possibilities would be worse than anything they come up with.” 

“That doesn’t sound like much of a plan.” 

“It isn’t one. I’m going to have to be adaptable. Sneaky. I can’t try and bluff them on strength as this made me look weak, like all my strength actually comes from you, like I’ve been yours this whole time. I mean, I have, but for entirely different reasons.” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows were trying to climb into his hairline. 

“I’m not usually considered the dangerous one.” 

“Might have talked up my adversary in reports a bit. You’re a hard one to defeat. And that’s likely what they believe happened. You did defeat me, but well, you’re an angel and all… I could only take out Ligur because you gave me holy water. I likely couldn’t have taken him on my own. Definitely not with Hastur there too. Everything that happened with Armageddon, with sharing corporation… that’s really hard for them to even contemplate the idea of it being an equal partnership. Someone had to be the one on top.” 

“You make it sound so _vulgar_.” 

“Don’t want to be the one that’s corrupting me? With your tender mercies?” 

“That sounds even worse.” 

“I’m not going to imply I was forced to. But they’ll likely assume I was since submitting out of anything other than raw fear or force is a bit of a hard idea for them to get behind.” 

“Do you feel like you… submitted?” Aziraphale’s voice had gone extremely serious, all sense of teasing gone. 

“Yes, sometimes. Especially being together. I let you take control to take care of me. I acknowledged my weakness and let you do for me what I was struggling to do for myself. And I think I did the same for you.” 

Aziraphale seemed to relax at that description. “You’ve been doing that for awhile, turning up to save me. My wily old serpent.” The smile was terribly fond. 

“That’s the dramatics. Flashy. I do love flashy, but the rest… did I?” He sounded uncertain now. 

“Yes, yes you did. I do very much love the flashy, perhaps a bit too much sometimes, but the little things, yes, yes you very much did. I just got to see more clearly how exactly we fit together.” 

“Good. I want… I want to feel like we’re equals. Different but complementary.” 

“Our own side, but neither ascendent.” He reached across the table to briefly take Crowley’s hand and squeeze it. “That said, would making it look like you had now wrested the upper hand back from me be useful to you?” 

“I don’t think so since that you _haven’t_ Fallen sort of exposes that lie right off. If I’d really dragged you down, you’d be down.” 

“What then, am I dragging you up?” 

“Not how that works. You go down, you stay down.” 

“So you said. But all that’s rather linear and I think you may be the foremost authority on doing things some other way.” Aziraphale made a subtle motion with his hand, a slight little sideways pull from one of the nearby ley lines to turn the harried server’s eye away from them. Nothing to see here, nothing to worry about, no need to ask after our meal. 

“You’re no slouch in that area.” He tipped his chin towards Aziraphale’s hand. 

“You’ve taken it to a far greater level than I have.” 

“Made a great big mess of it. Got caught in my own cleverness. Burned both of us with it.” He could manage to say burned without flinching since he was looking straight at Aziraphale, who was very clearly _here_. 

“Mmm. And then you were being quite clever yesterday with your demonstration.” There was that bastard smile there, just so pleased with Crowley. It made him duck his head at the attention. 

“They’re likely going to be pissed about that too. If they ever figure it out.” 

“Hopefully not. That was the whole idea. Now… I do have a question related to that.” 

“Shoot.” 

“Obviously we have our own methods of doing things when we had assignments. Had a budget for miracles. Get scolded for exceeding it.” Aziraphale sounded aggrieved by that. “Pulling power from earth is a bit different, jumps around some of the limitations but takes a bit more finesse. You’re working with something a bit rawer, rougher in a way but also more versatile. Adam should clearly have been using infernal energy… but was routing it back through the earth to disperse it. M25, you were doing opposite, collecting and concentrating, giving it a specifically infernal tinge… which I could redirect. Same with Adam.” 

“Not sure where you’re going with this.” 

“Well, so could you. Redirect. Realistically… you might just be able to redirect anything Hell throws at you. You'll still have to endure to some extent, none of that redirection was _pleasant_ , but there may be very little hell can DO to you.” 

“Huh.” Crowley leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with hands tucked into armpits. He stared off into the distance as he took a deep breath. He pursed lips and ran tongue along teeth as he rolled his jaw. It was a sort of whole body restlessness before going totally still to intensely focus on internal thoughts. 

Aziraphale cut off a bit of french toast and stuck it on Crowley’s plate and returned to eating while Crowley just focused. He finally leaned back forward and drained his glass. He refilled it and topped off Aziraphale’s as well. 

“Stand to reason then, you should be able to do the same with anything Heaven dishes out.” 

Aziraphale tilted head. “I just might.” He focused on food again. “There is, of course, the issue of numbers. We can’t exactly deflect everything, but it is potentially a surprise when cornered.” 

“Last resort. I think I’m going to have to take some punishment no matter what.” 

“You have to at least look repentant?” 

“Pfs. No. Not about Armageddon. You. Any of this.” He waved a hand to indicate… everything. 

“Anything then?” 

“I… didn’t like killing.” His voice grew soft, bravado gone. “It was self defense, but I do deserve some punishment for that.” 

“So you are repentant.” Aziraphale was giving him a far too insightful look. 

“Don’t you get all smug about it. It’s just pragmatic.” 

“Anthony…” 

“I do… if it wasn’t as fast as I thought. That… that I deserve punishment for. Self defense is one thing. And I did very much strike first. I deserve something. I truly do. Other things… not so much. This...” He shook his head slightly and stared off into the middle distance, seeing nothing but his own inner thoughts. 

“I don’t think my side would bother feeling anything but satisfaction at the destruction of a demon. They were rather eager for it. As if the first war wasn’t enough suffering. Still likely will try and restart it again.” 

“I honestly don’t know about Hell. Beelzebub looked a bit...lost when things turned out different than planned. More resigned. Maybe even relieved. Ze didn’t have the same anger Gabriel had about it.” 

“No. Funny thinking Hell might not want to restart things.” 

“Hell lost the last one. Without that structure that there’s supposed to be an end, to settle it all… I think they remember that a bit more clearly. That without that clarity it might just be a continuation of… a continuation of pain.” Aziraphale reached across the table to take Crowley’s hand, hold it gently as long as Crowley let him. “Without that clear plan, there’s going to be a lot of competing plans all of a sudden seeking… something. Some resolution. Things are likely to fall apart. If I don’t get punished in some significant way, Hell’s various factions are going to start killing each other. Coming up with ways to make it permanent.” 

“I didn’t think you cared that much.” Aziraphale said it softly, almost reverently, no hint of teasing there. 

“I… There’s no going back. Only forward. But Heaven, that anger… they’re going to hold onto that. Try and wrangle things to make it turn out the way they thought it was going to. Hell… they’ve known for a long time there was no returning to the way things were Before, but that didn’t mean they _accepted_ it. This was supposed to be an end. The End. That division would finally be gone. Like it was Before. They followed the Great Plan, that last order, to do as they should… and still nothing. It’s done. There is no return.” Crowley’s voice had grown rough as he spoke, finally trailing off in whisper. 

Aziraphale drew his hand across the table to kiss Crowley on knuckles. 

“ _Anthony._ ” 

“Anthony.” He drew Aziraphale’s hand back across the table and gave him a similar kiss on knuckles before settling hands back on table. 

They were silent for a few moments, not looking at each but just existing together. Crowley finally withdrew his hand so he could take his sunglasses off, laying them on the table between them. Aziraphale looked down at them and then at Crowley’s face. Crowley sniffed slightly and took a sip of his sangria, cheeks coloring slightly. 

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” Crowley got back to eating and gestured at Aziraphale to do the same. 

“Not entirely...do you think I should do something similar, just accept it?” 

“No. Fight ‘em on it. Sow as much discord as possible. Let them fight each other over policy as long as possible. They probably won’t kill each other.” Aziraphale made a little hmm noise at that. “If you really fuck up, you’re supposed to Fall. That’s why it's still cohesive. Disagreement theoretically fuels Hell because then they end up with more demons.” 

“You realize that makes it more likely outright destruction is on table.” He rubbed his hand over the spot where Sandalphon had punched him. 

“Eliminate a possible future demon?” 

“Yes.” 

“Do you think anyone’s likely to go rogue and try it?” 

“Not so directly, no. If it's sanctioned…. That’s likely either someone specifically gets the job and they’ll keep at it, or it becomes an all over kill-on-sight thing.” 

“Sorry, angel. Not really coming up with a good plan here.” 

“I don’t like the prospect of this being utterly unresolved and leaving me constantly worried. I can’t… something has to happen. It can’t just continue like this.” 

“Being unrepentant and unfallen is probably the best defense. If other angels start Falling over attempts, well. It’s just a different type of enduring. Outlast their asses.” 

“No one’s Fallen for anything in… honestly I don’t think since the War. Hmm. Seems a bit in…” 

“Don’t you dare.” 

Aziraphale rolled eyes at him and dared. “Ineffable that there's the same number of angels and demons. Beelzebub and Gabriel seemed quite sure of that. So if the numbers went out of alignment because Hell’s killing each other, suddenly you might have angels Falling again. If that’s what’s keeping that balance then…. I might be first to go.” 

“If the balance between Heaven and Hell actually rests on basic math, that’s not ineffable that’s… I don’t even know, but I don’t like it.” 

Crowley went to get more sangria, but the pitcher was empty, so reached in and fished some of the peach slices out with his fingers. 

“I can’t take you anywhere, _honestly_. Use your fork.” 

“I already put my fork in the omlette, so it’s no better than my fingers.” 

“It’s not an issue of whether it's sanitary or not. It’s…” Aziraphale lost his train of thought, watching Crowley sucking wine off his sticky fingers before chasing another piece of fruit around the bottom of the pitcher. “That.” 

“What?” Crowley genuinely didn’t seem to know. 

“You and fruit and tempting.” Aziraphale gave him a fond smile. 

“I like peaches and it might be my last chance.” 

“For awhile. Last chance for awhile.” 

“Ah… I didn’t mean it that way.” 

“I worry you do.” 

“I want this done… so it _is_ “for awhile” because all it means is the season is over and I have to wait until next year. Until whatever happens, happens. I want there to be a next year.” He wasn’t used to Aziraphale being able to so clearly see his eyes, but the sincerity apparently came through and he got a soft smile in return. 

“Give that here, you’re a disaster.” Crowley handed over the pitcher of sangria so Aziraphale could take his own fork and fish out the last peach slice for him. 

“Rude.” 

“I want you to promise me something.” 

“Anything.” He meant it. 

“You endure. But no sacrificing yourself for me. I mean it.” He clearly did as well. Crowley didn’t enjoy being quite so clearly seen. 

“I’m not some bloody martyr.” He huffed slightly. 

Aziraphale gave him Such A Look. “ _Promise me_.” 

“Alright, I promise.” 

“With all the words, I want to hear you say them.” 

“I will endure. I will not sacrifice myself because I think it will help you.” 

“Good. I will do the same. Endure, but no sacrificing myself to protect you. I need a world with you in it.” He took a bite from the slice on the fork, and held it out for Crowley to take the last half. “We’ll get more next season.” 

“Mhhm” Crowley took the bite and felt a slight bit of power exchange there. 

“HEY NOW.” Aziraphale looked goddamned _smug_. 

“Don’t be showing me how to do something and not expect me to use that knowledge.” 

“You bastard angel. You agreed too!” 

“Yes I did. I _promised_.” There was so much packed into that little word. He no longer looked smug. He looked soft and hopeful and like he had faith in their ability to keep their promises. To be promised to each other. 

“Never hold up.” There was a reflexive grumble there, but Crowley’s cheeks were turning red again at the message he’d received. 

“It’s not meant to, it's just to help guide me back to you.” 

“ _Should_ you come back?” 

“I should and I shall.” He reached across the table to take Crowley’s hand and kiss him on the knuckles, fingers smelling of fruit and wine. “Still have things I want to do with you.” There was a brief little flick of tongue as he licked a knuckle. 

“What did I get myself into.” 

“Me mostly.” That bastard smile was back. 

“I am going to discorporate right here if you keep this up.” 

“You managed actual words, instead of going _ngk_ so I think you’re fine.” 

“Oh, that noise sounds wrong coming out of your mouth. That’s _my_ incoherent noise.” 

“So eager to share before, now I can’t have your _words_ on my tongue?” 

“Ngk.” 

Aziraphale laughed at him for a moment and then there was a sharp squeeze on hand. He looked down at his hand and then back up at his face. The mirth was gone and there was a sense of composed alertness. Ready for something. Aziraphale took a deep breath and wrinkled his nose slightly. Crowley put his other hand over his face as he let senses slip for a moment. There was a little flicker of tongue behind his hand and there was a faint scent of low tide and waterlogged vegetation baking in the sun. Not so strong as for any of the humans here to sense it, but not something that should be here. He had a good idea who had been sent after him. 

He closed his eyes for a moment so he could search for more subtle ethereal scents. There was that subtle smell of stale absence and abandonment accompanied by that raw feeling of a shadow falling on him from above. He gave Aziraphale the faintest little nod as he pulled his hand away from his face. He kept hold of his other hand. 

“We should pay up and get out of here. Fancy a drive?” 

“Mmm, perhaps a walk instead. There’s that park nearby.” 

“Drive you somewhere later then.” 

“ _Yes_.” The intensity of it briefly distracted Crowley from their careful little show for their stalkers. He knew his face wasn’t properly schooled without his glasses on as he could see Aziraphale’s face soften in response to his own expression. He looked down at the table, in search of them. 

“Allow me.” Aziraphale released his hand and picked up his sunglasses, folding the arms out. Crowley leaned forward slightly and Aziraphale carefully slid them back onto him, fingers brushing along his temples. There was a tiny little stoke of fingers in his hair before hands were withdrawn. He felt simultaneously exposed and fortified. There was that sense of having pushed everyone else away, locked them firmly outside of himself, while simultaneously letting Aziraphale in _by_ letting him help conceal himself. 

Crowley dug out his wallet to leave more than enough cash for the meal. He left every bit of money he had. He might never need it again and being so generous while he was aware he was being scrutinized felt somehow just as daring as continuing to hold hands with Aziraphale as they left. 

Once they were out the door, Aziraphale released his hand and he had to school his face to not let it show that he was disappointed. He then silently thanked Aziraphale for putting his glasses back on as the angel’s hand was now placed on the small of his back instead. 

They kept up a soft, meaningless conversation about the neighborhood and who was out and about on this day after the end of the world. Technically it was his neighborhood. He should be leading. It was more a joint effort, with him providing vague direction and Aziraphale’s hand on his back setting the pace. He occasionally pushed back as he felt that impending sense of doom of an aerial predator closing in, making him want to dodge away from that scrutiny. He could feel that pressure of hand on small of back, the small motions guiding him and also a sense of additional pressure there, waiting to be let in. So he did. 

He almost stumbled at the sudden snapshot of Aziraphale’s perception of where they were in relation to everyone else along with a sense of how big a threat they posed. It wasn’t a shared sense, more a snapshot of perception pressed into him like a new memory, so he could almost immediately integrate in Aziraphale’s analysis of tactical situation. Along with the threats, there was a clear sense of a path through, avoiding where they might be boxed in or cornered with humans in the crossfire if things suddenly escalated. Which they almost certainly would. 

“My dear…” Aziraphale had paused, hand still on his back. Crowley waved his hand and continued along the clearer line he’d seen flash by. Aziraphale seemed a little surprised he moved with less direction now, but was eager to take advantage of it. They picked up the pace a bit. More pressure was applied shortly thereafter as apparently things had moved and he got another flash of that assessment. He smiled a bit too fondly at him for a moment, at the Guardian of the Eastern Gate still making sure to keep the humans safe. And him too. He was _worth_ guarding. 

A moment or two more and they were at the little park Aziraphale had suggested. It was prettier than the ones they usually frequented while also being more lifeless. No benches here. Everything was set up to make sure no one…. undesirable… lingered and disturbed the park’s aesthetics. Beautiful to look at, but not somewhere to _live_. Crowley had walked through it many times but never lingered. It was the easiest thing in the world to enhance that a bit further, sending humans detouring around it entirely. He could feel Aziraphale relax his hand slightly, having gotten them somewhere they could have a confrontation without endangering too many humans. Fleeing London would have been best, but likely would have resulted in an uncontrolled confrontation somewhere along the escape route. If they didn’t know Aziraphale now knew how to jump out on a phone line, that wasn’t something to reveal yet either. 

Crowley focused on that sense of being watched, tuning out the disapproving holiness of angelic observation to focus on the colder glare of London’s camera system. He pulled power up to corrode the wiring in every camera pointing at their location. Properly hellish, interfering with law enforcement’s ability to prosecute crime… or roust those sleeping rough, more likely. 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at him and Crowley gave a short little jerk of chin upward. If they were going to cut him off, they hadn’t done so yet. He’d never gotten the exact reprimand Aziraphale had for frivolous miracles, but Hell did generally pay attention to what that power was used for. Either they were idiots or they could no more cut him off from Hell than Heaven could cast Aziraphale down. That had interesting implications that would have to wait ‘til a later point. 

Their shadows had arrived and looked rather put out by having been clearly spotted. The two groups eyed each other, trying and failing to pass as human. Every actual human had now left this park that had been so carefully designed by humans to say they shouldn’t linger. And they hadn’t. There was little point in pretending. But they also seemed equally unsure who actually should go first now that they’d clearly lost the element of surprise. 

Crowley let them squirm for a moment and then addressed the demons. 

“Fancy seeing you here. Really wasn’t sure when my report would be due what with the world not ending.” 

“Going to report in on….this?” Dagon waved a hand at Aziraphale as she got closer, but remained out of physical striking range. The two demons with her hung back for now, but had eyes focused on her, ready to act at first command. 

“You’ve had lots of reports on him. Finally get to meet in person. Aziraphale, Dagon. Dagon, Aziraphale.” 

Aziraphale put on his best smile and offered his hand. “Dagon… Crowley’s said nothing nice about you. It is my great displeasure to meet you.” 

Dagon looked for a moment as if she was trying to process if it was meant as a sincere insult, a sincere compliment, or a bit of both. Settled on a bit of both and stepped close enough to take the offered hand. She met Aziraphale’s warm and earnest handshake with one that had all the charm, liveliness, and sliminess of a dead fish. He not-at-all subtly wiped his hand on Crowley’s jeans, who gave him an offended look. Dagon’s eyes shifted between the two of them, looking a bit too keen. 

“You could have just called if you needed a report so urgently. But I figured you’d have a bit of a backlog to clear, so hadn’t quite got to it.” 

“No one’s calling you after your earlier stunt.” Crowley tried to keep the glee off his face at this news. “And I don’t have any way to actually file anything right now since none of our forms can handle dates past the end of the world.” Dagon clearly knew who to blame for that problem and was looking right at him. 

“Wellllll…” Crowley went for his best smile and gestured with hands. “If the moon didn’t turn to blood, maybe they’ll finally implement that lunar system you wanted?” 

“That does remove one of the objections…but I am not getting so easily distracted by your derailing! You have a great many things to answer for. _”_ Dagon turned her eyes towards Aziraphale. “You have very nice handwriting.” Eyes flicked back to Crowley. “Very similar to yours. But his isn’t nearly as _nice_. I have _receipts._ ” 

“They were well organized and very thorough receipts! Just sometimes a little tardy, I’ll admit. I like to make sure you don’t have to ask me to redo them.” Crowley was actually pretty good at his job. Or at least certain aspects of it. 

“... They were very thorough. But right now you are required to make an in person report and we’re going to review _all of them_.” 

“Love to.” He would not. “Just want to handle a few things first.” 

“ _Now_.” 

“Look.” He put up a placating hand “Right now you can’t exactly have official paperwork telling me to report in, what with the transition and all, but obviously you’re gonna have that all sorted soon and I’d much rather not have it delivered by Hastur. He always puts it on the clipboard upside down.” Dagon made a face at that. “I just want to see what those lot want, that’s it. Then I can take it as a verbal order to report in. You know I hate those, but I know how to make ‘em stick when we have to do it that way. So, just wait a little bit and we’ll do it that way, yeah?” 

“Verbal is the worst. I am _not_ agreeing to wait, I am considering the offer and the appropriate phrasing of a binding verbal order for you to report in.” 

Dagon withdrew to where the other two demons were standing, so they could flank her dramatically. Her face seemed fairly neutral but that she was waiting indicated she did want to see what was going to happen as well and now had a formal excuse for waiting. 

The two archangels seemed a little at a loss for what to do now that Dagon was standing around watching and doing nothing. It seemed unlikely they’d been working together, but perhaps there had been some agreement. Clearly some sort of verbal one for it to have gone this wrong, this fast. 

Aziraphale huffed slightly. “Well, are you going to come over here or are we supposed to shout our business across the park at each other like savages?” 

Sandolphon and Uriel got closer, though they clearly didn’t want to get so close that Dagon and her two assistants would be at their back. Sandolphon kept eyes turned towards Dagon while Uriel got close enough to speak at a normal volume. 

“You’re wanted up in Heaven.” 

“I most certainly am not _wanted,_ that was made very clear.” Aziraphale’s voice had a quiet fury to it, but Crowley could hear the brittle edge of hurt underneath it. Crowley reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand. There was that brief second where they clearly both had the thought that this would make things worse and then Crowley firmly squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. He was very much wanted by at least one person despite it all. 

“Is that all it takes to convince someone to Fall?” Uriel looked disgusted. Sandolphon looked pleased in a nasty sort of way that made Crowley feel like Dagon’s slimey handshake was pleasant in comparison. 

“I very much haven’t or you wouldn’t be here.” Crowley looked over at Dagon who made a noncommittal head tilt. No paperwork at least. 

“You’re still under Heaven’s jurisdiction then.” 

“Oh I believe desertion is one of the charges, so am I?” 

“You are.” 

“I would like to dispute that charge at least.” 

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Sandolphon briefly took his eyes off Dagon so he could give Aziraphale an unpleasant smile. This was a mistake as Dagon used the brief inattention to ooze slightly closer. 

“I am very much doing my duty. I am exactly where I am supposed to be.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a slight squeeze of hand. 

“With a demon?” The disgust was obvious in Uriel’s voice. 

“On Earth. I suppose I could argue it's easier to thwart his wiles if he’s only got one hand to work with… but that’s just a blatant lie. He’s very clever.” Aziraphale looked down at their intertwined fingers with a soft smile. 

“I did take your dominant hand with my non-dominant one.” 

“See, very wily.” 

The other two angels both looked disgusted with this. Dagon oozed a little closer to Sandolphon. One of the demon’s with her was looking at his hands, apparently baffled by the whole concept of dominant vs non-dominant hands. 

“You were supposed to be leading a regiment at Armageddon.” 

“Which obviously didn’t start, so I was, at best, tardy. And I had rather more pressing duties.” 

“There was no greater duty than the Great Plan.” 

“I am the Guardian of the Eastern Gate and was never relieved of that duty.” 

“You _failed_ at it. There’s no Eastern Gate. Eden is gone and you’re holding hands with the one who destroyed it!” Uriel pointed directly at Crowley who squirmed under the attention. 

“Did he?” That sounded innocent, but there was an edge under there that Crowley recognized all too well. 

“He’s the Serpent of Eden, of course he did!” 

“What was the very last order God gave you?” Uriel started to answer and Aziraphale cut her off with a sharp hand motion. “Personally. To you. Not through intermediaries or memos or layers of bureaucracy. To you.” 

Uriel glared at him. “This is about you.” 

“This is about _all_ of us. _What was it_?” There was a silken sharp edge to that question, so keen that you didn’t realize you’d been cut ‘til you saw the blood welling up. 

Uriel couldn’t stand against Aziraphale’s gaze so looked towards Sandolphon to make it seem like she was looking at him, rather than simply away. Dagon had taken a step back at the question, which had finally alerted Sandolphon to just how close she had gotten. He’d turned and stepped backwards to try and be able to see her and still keep Aziraphale in his peripheral vision. It had backed him into a short decorative rail in the park and he couldn’t move further without it being an obvious retreat. 

Dagon turned eyes briefly towards the two of them, lip slightly curled to show off sharp teeth. Then she refocused on Sandolphon, the two demons with her having moved to one side to stay behind her and get further away from Aziraphale. 

There was the rising smell of ozone and the wet fetid stink of something rising from beneath the waters. Faces caught light as scales and gold bloomed across skin as mounting tension was causing two groups to lose hold on forms. 

“Enough.” from Aziraphale. “You have been reminded of your duty. Now pull yourselves together before I am required to do mine.” 

Neither group really wanted to back off but they wanted to initiate a fight with Aziraphale even less. Dagon flicked her eyes towards them briefly and then stepped to the far side of the pathway. The two with her backed up as well, eager to have a reason to get further away. Sandolphon straightened his suit like it had only been a minor little thing. Uriel had retreated to be closer to Sandolphon. 

“This isn’t over.” Sandolphon was looking at Crowley rather than Aziraphale. 

“Of course it isn’t. You’ll just be back with a worse plan.” Aziraphale looked irritated at this, but like it was a minor inconvenience. 

“Crowley, I am not agreeing to wait any longer. Make your decision.” Dagon was looking at Aziraphale. 

“Do you want me to come with?” Aziraphale was looking at Crowley now, who considered it briefly, but could see Dagon’s eyes having moved to him in a distinct ‘do not’ expression. 

“I should be asking you that.” 

“Oh, not necessary. I’m sure I can clear this up while you’re busy.” Aziraphale pulled him in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t be too long or I may have to come find you. Now then…” he turned towards the two archangels. “I believe I have some _words_ to have with Gabriel. Come along.” And Aziraphale headed off, leaving them to trail in his wake, not sure what to do about this. 

Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and watched them go, aware he looked stupid and besotted and _not caring_. 

“Are you actually coming along without a fight or was that to get him out of here?” Dagon sounded both relieved Aziraphale was gone and suspicious things were about to get a lot more physical. 

“Nah, I’ll come along. You’ll eventually get the new system sorted. No sense putting off inevitable and we have to do this all again, but with more paperwork and violence. I have other things I’d rather be doing.” Nevermind he might not be doing anything, ever again if things went poorly. But so far things were taking an… interesting course. 

“Things might be wanting to do you.” 

“Is there a form for that?” 

Dagon gave him a look like he was either very clever or very, very dumb. Possibly both at the same time. 

“No really, I think it's the only thing I’m _not_ specifically in trouble for. Is there a form I’m supposed to fill out?” 

“You think we have forms for that?” 

“Do we?” 

“If we do, how far backdated does it need to be?” Crowley made a face like he was trying to come up with an acceptable answer. Dagon gave him a bit of a toothy smile. “That far?” 

“How many reports are we reviewing?” 

“All of them, Serpent of Eden.” 

“Uggggh. You’re supposed to be the Master of Files and the Lord of Torments, not both at the same time.” 

“I’m very efficient.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MARCH SURE WAS A MONTH.
> 
> So was April. jeesus.
> 
> 95% of Crowley in hell is done and about 70% of Aziraphale in Heaven, they just aren't edited. Be a little epilogue, then done!
> 
> I'm making no claim when those get done because last time I apparently wished on the cursed monkey's paw, so It Done When It Done but it *is* being worked on.
> 
> also, hope you like Dagon!


	11. NO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Heaven ‘love’ was a noun, never a verb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit gonna be real rough this chapter cause this is the Trial but I promise there is comfort to go with that hurt!

Crowley had expected they might review some of his reports but not _all_ of them. Dagon seemed intent on doing a complete and thorough audit of all his reports. Ever. How did they still even have this many clay tablets left? 

“Do we have to review ancient reciepts for copper ingots?” 

“Eager to get straight on to the punishment?” 

“Trying to remember how to read cuneiform IS a punishment.” 

Dagon took the tablet in front of him and rotated it 90 degrees. 

“Thank you.” He squinted at it for another minute and then realized what he’d said and looked over at Dagon, who had her fingers neatly knitted together and far too many teeth showing 

“Oh _piss_.” 

“You left quite the trail. But you were getting results so there was no need to do anything about them. Now however... “ Somehow Dagon found even more teeth to show off. 

“Been waiting to nail my ass to the wall?” 

“Your angel seems to have done that already.” 

Crowley couldn’t even manage to make an incoherent noise at. 

“You do have nicer handwriting than he does. He fakes a decent version of your handwriting, but it's not nearly as clean. I suspect you rewrote them if they weren’t quite perfect.” 

Crowley merely nodded. 

“No one really cares about that.” 

“You car… consider it relevant.” 

“I do. So he was off doing your job and submitting your reports. Is the reverse true?” 

“What does it matter?” 

“Were you off being _good_?” 

“The murder and Apocalypse stopping weren’t enough?” 

“Oh, you are definitely in it for that. But you came without having to be dragged, so you’re getting to talk instead of scream. I suggest continuing to talk.” 

“Put that way…” 

“Now were you off doing his work, sending in reports to Heaven about your good deeds?” 

“Are you going to present that to Heaven?” 

“That you were a traitor?” 

“No. The other stuff.” 

“That you were doing _good_?” 

“No, that Aziraphale was doing my job.” 

“I haven’t gotten any transfer paperwork, so I don’t think it matters.” There was a very faint edge of bitterness there but mostly Dagon sounded weary. 

“I uh…” Crowley looked around at the desk and suddenly realized Dagon wasn’t writing any of this down. “recognize the value of information compartmentalization.” 

“You always were a smart one. Now I want to hear what sorts of miracles you could pull off and still keep it off the books.” 

* * *

* * *

The two archangels had caught up relatively quickly but still seemed reluctant to actually lay hands on him now. Whether disgust or fear, Aziraphale frankly didn’t care so long as it kept them from touching him. 

“You think Gabriel will listen to your whining?” Aziraphale’s pace was just fast enough to make Sandalphon have to alternate between walking and jogging to keep up. He did not seem to share Gabriel’s love of jogging so sounded a little breathless. 

“I assume he sent you two, so he’s certainly going to want to talk AT me. Listening isn’t his strong point.” 

“How did taking it up with a higher authority go?” Uriel was trying to flank him, to get back control of the situation. 

“Still awaiting a reply. Meanwhile it seems I shall simply have to deal with you directly.” Aziraphale kept his eyes firmly ahead, not acknowledging Uriel’s attempts to steer him. 

“Is that a threat?” Uriel’s voice had acquired an edge again. 

“There’s one less of you now.” 

They both fell behind as they had a brief moment of questioning when they’d last seen Michael. They had to jog to catch back up.. 

“What are you going to do, fight Gabriel?” 

“I intend to have **A Word** with him.” They fell back behind again. Aziraphale could tell it didn’t have the full ring behind it when he’d been joined with Crowley, but there was enough of it there he could see a slight shiver to the glass of nearby windows. He wasn’t sure exactly what he would _say_ to Gabriel right now, but he could feel some emotion building in him. He had been patient so long, avoiding confrontation, but now there was _anger_ there. 

He was angry at how he’d been treated but it was subsumed under a more general sense of outrage. He could even feel a faint little bit of it directed at God Herself. To be so silent, so distant, while also leaving those with such _power_ undirected, unchecked… 

Perhaps that was the way it had to be for them to actually be able to _make_ choices, to not have that Voice telling them exactly what to do. But that first punishment had set the stage for everything else. And similar punishment had been directed towards the humans twice over. When God had finally offered up their own Son to finally be a positive example, that too had ended in suffering. 

All these millenia and Heaven had learned only what you should _not_ do. Better to do nothing then. The command to ‘Love humanity’ had torn apart Heaven, had made Hell. Heaven had been just as distant to humanity as Satan had been with his own son. And had yet expected obedience just as surely. It had disciplined him for frivolous miracles, for caring enough to _act_. To Heaven ‘love’ was a noun, never a verb. 

He didn’t slow going through tower doors to access the main entrance. His steps threw great ripples across the wet floor as he crossed. The other two fell back again, not liking the reminder of how deep the water truly was. 

They caught up to him again at the top of the escalator and now surrounded by Heaven were finally willing to lay hands on him and steer him in a specific direction. He pulled back once or twice, just to make them aware he was humoring them. He let himself be guided to a chair in a vast open area before a circle of stones that seemed deeply out of place. With Heaven around them, they looked like they were considering a repeat of the earlier double team. 

“I see Gabriel is missing. Leaving you alone. _With me_. How like him.” 

Uriel produced some bindings clearly intending to tie him to the chair. He stared at Sandolphon and crossed his arms. If she was going to bother with this he wasn’t going to make this easy. 

“Put your arms down.” 

“What is that going to accomplish?” 

“Do as you’re told.” 

“No.” 

* * *

* * *

Crowley honestly wasn’t sure if the shovel he’d been handed was for digging his own grave or making an escape route. But he was getting to talk rather than scream, so he’d keep on shovelling. Bury Dagon under a pile of words. She occasionally consulted some of her files on specific items but wasn’t actually making any updates to them. She could, of course, be recording this as an audio record of some sort to play back later, but the questions were just a little _too_ specific. She had clearly known some of this and the questions would reveal that to anyone listening to this later. Well, anyone reasonably clever. 

Dagon had fairly accurate reports of when angelic intervention had been involved in events, but lacked specific guesses as to when Crowley had been filling in. However, she knew what sorts of things to hone in on as having a whiff of Crowley’s particular brand of organized chaos so given time, might be able to actually guess what significant things he’d done for Heaven. Since they often didn’t have their side's plan of _why_ someone was significant, there had been times Crowley had ended up doing far, far more good than he’d planned for. And Aziraphale having done far, far more evil. There were instances of both he really didn’t want to discuss. 

So he went for telling her _exactly_ what she’d asked for initially, starting with the early ones. He’d started rather small and simple since they weren’t sure what they could actually do for each other. Dagon seemed fairly unimpressed with all the various blessed crops, lost people returned from abroad, and wells that never ran dry. But when he mentioned healing someone, her whole demeanor changed and she was now clearly intensely interested. He might be in trouble for that alone. Demon’s shouldn’t _heal_. But the follow up questions seemed less than it was a thing he shouldn’t do, than something demons _couldn’t_ do. Oh, they could give the _illusion_ of healing by circumventing certain limitations to the human body, but the body had to heal itself eventually… sometimes around what demons had done “healing” that same body. Crowley’s healing might scar but it was actual healing so far as he knew. 

Aziraphale had never seemed to doubt he _could_ heal. It was just an adaptation of manipulating the flow of time, with a great deal of precision involved. It required focus and a clear idea of what the goal was, but it actually didn’t require that much raw power. Too much actually risked making things worse since it could take the body out of sync with itself. It’s why he didn’t try and pull power from a ley line unless it was an emergency. Then he had to rush to make sure Hell didn’t notice and it was properly demonic “healing” in that it fixed the immediate, obvious problem, but the “cure” was often just as taxing on the body as the original issue. Repairing things that had just happened, those he could usually do with raw power and no scarring, winding time around to convince the body that the injury had never happened at all or was considerably less serious than initially perceived. Having just been on the receiving end of Aziraphale’s healing, it seemed like that was what Aziraphale did as well, just he was _supposed_ to heal so had the time to do it carefully. He could restore it to a pre-injury state, but without totally removing the knowledge of the wound having occurred. 

Dagon pressed him for more examples and he hit on an instance where she could quickly find the record on the demonic miracle that preceded it. Totally shattered an ankle was a properly demonic action. He’d broken bones many, many times. Often enough to be unremarkable. But now hearing what came _after,_ Dagon clearly had the suspicion very few of them had been done with a proper demonic attitude behind them. She was rolling a chewed up pencil between her fingers, clearly wanting to take notes and also clearly wanting no record of this same conversation. 

He’d rebroken a mess of fused shards and then spent days using his own personal power to patch them back together in the right order. He’d wrapped and rewrapped the man’s foot over the course of several days to keep it stable while also making sure nothing was going wrong. Crowley was just speeding up how quickly the bones knit back together. It was really all the treatment he should have gotten in the first place, just sped up a bit to make sure it actually worked this time. Trying to speed up healing of the atrophied muscles and tendons around the old break would just worsen it, so he’d left those alone. But once the bones were back together and he could put weight on it, the muscle and tendon would take care of themselves eventually. It was amazing what humans could recover from given time and support. 

He’d dressed it up in ceremony with bandaging and rebandaging it daily in clean linen and a poultice of pain relieving herbs from a nearby monastery. When he left, he told the man it would be healed when he took the bandages off the next day, but the injury would return if he didn’t follow a strict regime of prayer for the next 40 days, culminating in a walk to a nearby pilgrimage site to do the last prayers there. 

That set of prayers had him carefully getting up and down several times a day to slowly build back up the strength and flexibility in the restored joint, adding in a few more each day. For the time, it was an absolutely miraculous recovery fueled by prayer. It wasn’t quite what Heaven had probably envisioned, but they’d been very happy with the results. And many subsequent ones. 

Laying out the details for Dagon like this made him realize how often Aziraphale had asked him to do this type of healing of an old, established wound. Aziraphale had danced around why he asked Crowely to do them so often, but the core idea seemed to be that Crowley's slower and ritualized approach often had better long term outcomes than sudden, total restoration required to fix something this established. Even Aziraphale’s patient restoration to a pre injury state was still too fast. And it was… true. 

With the cover for Hell eastablished that he was thwarting the angel by interfering in his assignment and making it harder, he could take his time. It was still miraculous healing, no mistaking that, but the recipient had time to adjust to their new body and the lessening of pain. The mind was allowed to adjust to what was happening rather than shocking it into a new configuration. It let all the things they’d done to compensate or deal with the injury fall away naturally instead of becoming problems in their own right. More importantly he could just _stop_ if they didn’t want it, if it was too much. It was terrifying in its way, to have the wound that defined you, that you’d rebuilt your identity around, just go away. 

Oh. 

Crowley could hear Dagon asking a question but could make no sense of the words. 

_Oh._

Dagon slapped him and he rolled his head and tried to bring his focus back to the here and now. He ran a hand over his face where Dagon had hit him and his hand came away wet, but lacking the sliminess he’d been anticipating. He realized his whole face felt wet. 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Dagon sounded… disturbed and she was looking at the door of the office rather than directly at him. 

“You’re the Master of Torments, you’re doing your job.” 

“That is not me doing my _job_.” She looked back at him and there was almost an edge of panic there. “We were just _talking_.” 

“You know words can hurt more than anything physical.” He sniffed and tilted his head up like that would keep tears from flowing out of him. 

“Would flaying you make you _stop_?” Threats were familiar, safe, almost comforting. 

“Then I’d be crying for the right reasons?” 

“Just…. Stop. Please.” 

The please really did it. Crowley closed his eyes and pushed his sunglasses up briefly while pressing on his eyeballs. Everything was just too fast and he couldn’t process any of what had happened in the last few days, let alone this. 

There was a rap on the door. Dagon grabbed his other hand roughly and pressed nails into the tendons in his wrist so he hissed. 

“Come in! Are they ready?” 

The demon that came in looked at Crowley just sitting in a chair, a pile of reports in front of him, but his face and shoulders squinched up in obvious pain from what little Dagon was _clearly_ doing to him. 

“They still can’t find him. But want to get this over with.” The demon was looking uneasily at Crowley. “He’s just… been here?” 

“Did they figure out how long he’s been missing?” 

“Dunno ‘bout that. Just supposed to fetch you both.” 

“Crowley.” He shook his head slightly in a ‘no’. Dagon twisted fingers slightly and he could feel the painful grind of bones under that grip, but he wasn’t ready to face her. “Where's Hastur?” 

“What?” He tried to look at her but he still had his hand over his face. 

“Where’s Duke Hastur?” Crowley got his hand off his face and his sunglasses slid halfway down nose so he was peering over them at her. “Frog on his head. Likes lighting things on fire.” 

“I know who Hastur is! Why would I know where he is?” He was squinting, like somehow this would make the question make sense. 

“You did try to kill him recently.” He wasn’t sure if Dagon believed him, but she’d let up on the bone crushing. 

“I didn’t succeed. I thought that was who reported back on… the rest.” He got enough wits about him to push his sunglasses back up over his eyes. 

“It was. And you didn’t manage to kill him later?” 

“I wanted to avoid him entirely. I’d hoped he’d been stuck in the ansaphone, but he turned up later and bailed out of my Bentley because he got a good, close-up look at us.” 

“Us?” 

“While we were together. I don’t know what it looked like to other demons, but he fled rather than face me and Aziraphale together.” 

“Having met the angel…” 

“We didn’t actually _do_ anything to him. It was just a few words exchanged and… whatever that mess looked like. We might have been glowing at that point. That was a thing that happened for a bit. It was enough to put off humans instinctively, even if they couldn’t see it properly. Could see _me_ move under the skin sometimes. I don’t know what we looked like to Hastur, but he leapt out of the car and fled rather than face us.” 

“And after that?” 

“The almost end of the world, trying to get back to my flat. Clean up the… aftermath. Ate dinner and slept. Did some… other things in the morning when Aziraphale had managed to get his body back.” 

“How did he get that back?” 

“Antichrist.” 

“Just… made him a body?” 

“Kind of rewound time. Bit of… healing sort of thing like making the world forget it had been broken. Messy though.” 

Dagon looked over at the other demon. “And they want us now, even without Hastur?” 

“Preparations are done. They don’t want to wait anymore.” 

“Fine, fine. Go fetch Rosjav so we can get him there.” 

The demon looked at Crowley. Back at Dagon. <br> “Go, fetch, we’re required to have two guards.” There was a rough grunt of acknowledgment and then the other demon retreated in face of normal bureaucracy. As soon as the door closed behind him, Dagon was back at him. 

“Where’s Hastur?” 

“I don’t _know_. I figured he’d want to nail my ass for… for Ligur. But he ran earlier. He might just… it might just be too painful.” 

“Bad enough you….leaking.” Dagon loosened her grip on his wrist, looking at the nail marks dug into him. They were red but the skin had not been broken. “Don’t need Hastur leaking too.” 

“All of Hell leaks. Has been all along.” Crowley’s voice was terribly soft. 

“Plumbing has been terrible for as long as we’ve had it.” Dagon finally withdrew her hand, wiped it on her own leg as if Crowley had tainted her. 

“Could get better eventually. Probably need to tear it apart, rebuild it.” 

“You volunteering?” Eyes narrowed at him, clearly seeing the temptation. 

Crowley shook his head slightly. “They’re going to execute me, aren’t they?” 

“That is the plan.” 

“Those haven’t been going well recently.” 

“Don’t push it.” 

“Or what, you’ll execute me?” 

“I’m the Master of Torments, not the executioner.” 

“Do we have one of those?” 

“No. You’d be the first one done.” 

“Maybe you won’t need one then.” 

“Is that why you came quietly?” 

“Yeah. No sense running. It’d just get worse. For me. For… everyone.” 

“You fucking _idiot_.” 

“Aziraphale agrees.” 

“....is he going to come back at the last minute to save you?” 

“No. He wants me back. He… he loves me. He really does. So much.” His voice was getting thick and raspy again. 

“No more _leaking_!” 

“I’m a fucking mess. But he trusts me.” 

“You’re both idiots. Deserve each other.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we kind of do. I’ll figure something out. I just need to survive, that’s all I need to do.” 

“You won’t survive holy water.” 

“Oh. Yeah. If Hastur knew that was what it was going to be… he might not want to see that again. He can’t really say that, but… fuck. I wouldn’t want to see it. Or hear it.” 

There was a long moment of silence and then Dagon was opening a desk drawer and pulling a form out and quickly jotted something on it 

“Sign this here and here” as she quickly circled two spots “It’s backdated to the last time you were here.” 

Crowley looked at the form quickly. “Does this say _Next of Sin_?” 

“If he Falls, he gets everything you had. If he doesn’t… he still might, if he wants it. This just makes it easier.” 

“If he was going to Fall, they’d have done it. They’re going to try and kill him too.” 

“Yes.” 

“He’s gonna be peeved if they damage his clothes. He just got those back.” 

“You don’t seem to doubt he’s going to live.” 

“He’s a bigger bastard than the lot of them. They’re in trouble.” 

He did the signature in the two indicated spots but it somehow felt wrong to him. It still flared appropriately to indicate it worked for the form but something felt slightly off with it now. 

“Why do you even have this form?” Dagon took it from him, briefly held a finger over the signature to feel the burn of it to make sure it had taken, before handing him the yellow copy with the sigil somehow smudged. 

“We didn’t win the last one.” 

“...did anyone else use it?” 

Dagon shrugged. “I don’t see that’s your business.” 

“Let me rephrase that, did Ligur use it?” 

“Did you have something that should be returned?” 

“Yes. He did wear real clothes. Didn’t check his pockets. They’re at the churchyard he handed me the Antichrist.” 

Dagon looked puzzled but there was rap on the door. This was not a question she’d get an answer to. 

“Yes, what is it?” 

The door was carefully pushed open and the demon from earlier was back, now in more formal armor. There was a shadow in the hall of another demon. 

“They’re waiting.” 

* * *

* * *

The impasse was broken by a ding behind him of an elevator and he gave a slight push with his foot to rotate the office chair to see Gabriel arriving with an unfamiliar yet familiar demon. Gabriel took his expression to be one of shock, not him trying to use Crowley’s memory to place who this was. 

“Aziraphale! Good of you to join us.” Gabriel’s smile was all teeth and hollowness. 

“I see you have a new friend. Hello, Erik” There was a slight little twitch to the demon's eye and he looked a little more carefully. “Oh, I’m sorry. Eriq. I apologize.” Eriq didn’t seem to know what to do with a sincere apology or being recognized. 

“Erik?” Gabriel made a face. “Shouldn’t you have something more...?” He waved a hand in the air searching for words. “Evil?” 

“Yeah, well, it is what it is. Should get on with it.” Eriq had the pleasantly neutral face of didn’t want to bother disagreeing as it would require talking to Gabriel longer.<br> “Yes. Let’s.” Gabriel clapped hands together and looked directly at Aziraphale again. “Oh you’ll like this.” 

The demon quickly went for summoning hellfire amidst the stones laid out on the floor. “I’ll be back to pick that up in an hour.” And he wisely got away from whatever was about to happen. 

“I do not like this at all.” Aziraphale’s face was unpleasantly neutral and flat. There was no attempt to even feign agreement. 

“You will. Your destruction is for the greater good.” Gabriel sounded sure. 

“Shouldn’t there be some kind of trial?” 

“No, your guilt is clear.” 

“And yet here I am, sitting in Heaven, not falling through the floor.” Aziraphale tapped his shoe on the floor to make it very clear. 

“Technicality.” Gabriel made a quick hand gesture, like he could sweep those words away. “You will be made an example of.” 

“And yet there’s no one here except you three. That seems less an example and more a secret.” 

“Enough of this, you will be removed from reality. Into the flame.” He pointed helpfully at the pyre. 

“I think not.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“If you’d had authority to pass judgment, you’d have done it without all this.” Aziraphale uncrossed his arms so he could gesture at the fire and the three archangels. 

“You can't just refuse.” 

“I can.” 

“Look sweetheart, shut your stupid mouth and get in the Hellfire and we’ll forget all about this.” 

“No, I’d rather you remembered it clearly. If I’m going to be disciplined for being disobedient, I won’t do your work for you. You want me punished, you have to do it yourself.” 

“You have to do what you’re told!” 

“I very much do what I’m told. Have been. Have you?” 

“Of course I have! You haven’t!” 

“”No you” is not a valid argument.” 

“Get in the Hellfire.” 

“No.” 

“Sandolphon, toss him in there.” There was that brief bit of hesitation before Sandolphon got into motion. 

“Why’s he above you? Aren't you both archangels?” 

There was a brief pause, but with Gabriel staring at him, he advanced on Aziraphale. 

“I shall remind you that you had to have someone else hold me for you last time. And _I lived_.” This did slow Sandolphon down. Aziraphale got up so he couldn’t just be rolled into the hellfire in a desk chair. He edged to the side so Sandolphon would have to either get uncomfortably close to the Hellfire himself or swing wide around it, showing off his fear. Sandolphon opted for the wide swing around. Aziraphale drew closer to Gabriel, though he wasn’t happy about it. Neither was Gabriel. 

“Look.” Gabriel smiled with too many teeth. “Just get in the hellfire and nobody has to get hurt.” 

“How are you this _stupid.”_

“How are _you_?” Gabriel pointed at him, like somehow this made it a better retort, but it didn’t. He siddled away from Aziraphale. 

Uriel held her ground. “If you think your boyfriend is coming, he’s not. Hell’s taking care of him.” 

“He’s taking care of himself. And Hell. You are unfortunately mine to deal with.” Aziraphale sighed dramatically. “And don’t think I forgot about earlier.” He pointedly held up two fingers at Uriel. She held her ground, while Gabriel took it as a taunt directed at him and advanced on Aziraphale. 

“How did your consultation with head office go?” 

“You know how it went!” 

“I see.” Aziraphale looked at the Hellfire. “So is ‘collaborating with Hell to destroy a fellow angel part of the new Plan’?” 

“You were trying to!” 

“Hardly. I was very much trying to avert the War. So no killing any fellow angels.” 

“You WERE planning on turning against Heaven!” 

“One War was enough. Demons are just Fallen angels. If God had wanted them dead… well, they wouldn’t have Fallen, they’d be destroyed” 

“We were meant to destroy them at Armageddon!” 

“And all those years in between, holy water at our disposal, Hellfire at theirs and yet, here we are this is the first time it’s really getting used.” 

“On you!” 

“Well you’re attempting to use it on me. That doesn’t seem to be going so well.” 

“Both of you grab him and toss him in.” 

“All orders, no action? And you two, just following orders. Nobody to blame there. Had no choice in the matter.” 

Uriel looked uneasy. Gabriel looked increasingly furious. Sandolphon was just focused on staying far enough away from hellfire to not get burnt 

“That’s exactly right. There is no choice.” 

“I refuse to sacrifice myself so you feel like you didn't make an active choice.” 

“We’re meant to destroy demons.” 

“I’m no demon.” 

“Just consorting with one.” 

“You just walked in with one.” 

“That’s different.” 

“Ah, that’s just _business_.” 

“Finally you understand!” 

“I’m not fighting you, but I’m also not going to do what you want. You want me destroyed, you have to put me in the flames yourself.” 

“Get in there.” 

“If you’re going to be like this, I’m leaving.” 

“You can’t _leave_.” 

“I have duties to attend to.” 

“You deserted! You abandoned your duties!” 

“I did no such thing. I choose to do my duty despite the interference of others who were insistent I abandon it and start murdering other angels over an unresolved policy dispute on how to DO our duty.” 

“Demons aren’t angels!” 

“Funny how there’s exactly as many fallen angels as regular ones. Bit Ineffable.” 

“We are not having another argument over math!” 

“First one didn’t go well for you. Now, kindly get out of my way and let me resume my duties.” 

“What duties? There’s nothing left to do!” 

“Then it shouldn’t matter if I stay or go.” 

“You must be punished!” 

Aziraphale pointedly tapped his foot on the floor. “Not happening unless you _choose_ to toss me in there.” 

Uriel came closer, starting to box him in “If he’s not going to fight us, we can just back him in” 

Gabriel stepped forward, clearly expecting Aziraphale to finally comply. He wasn’t expecting him to step forward to bring him to within an inch of touching Gabriel’s chest while still firmly not-touching him. 

Gabriel stared for a moment and then stepped forward to actually press against Aziraphale. “Die already.” 

“No.” 

“You can’t just say no!” 

“I very much can.” 

“You have to do as told!” 

“I do. I am. But you’re not the one I have to listen to.” 

This was enough to ignite the spark of fury Aziraphale had seen at the airbase, and Gabriel tried to shove him backwards. Aziraphale’s refusal to move seemed to only enrage him further and Gabriel ducked his shoulder so he could try and bring more force to bear, pushing with his legs as well. This finally snapped Uriel and Sandolphon into motion to present a unified front. They each laid a hand on his shoulder and Aziraphale had to lean forward against them to not be moved. Gabriel’s head was tucked just above his shoulder, lips practically touching his cheek and he felt _nothing_. The three of them with their hands on him, and they were firmly outside of him, _other_ and unwelcome. He could feel the heat against his back inching closer as he was being slowly pushed backwards. 

He grasped for that partial memory Crowley had shown him to hold them together, welcomed inside and held close and dear and safe. Remembered his arms around him later as he’d tried to describe that pain with actual words. The burning away of the doubts and questions that had plagued him and yet still he had _more_. He had survived that and come out changed and wounded but still with that fundamental part of his nature intact. 

Aziraphale had made his point and saw no need to destroy other angels. He’d put down his sword. He could step back quickly and there was a solid chance they would tumble in with him. Tempting, but they’d learn nothing from it. They’d be unprepared. Gone. But he had challenged them with words and deeds until they were forced to finally make a choice and not rely on fearful compliance as their only means of deciding anything. There would be no mistaking that they had forced him in. He gave Gabriel a firm shove as he stepped over the ring of stones as he loosed his wings to deal with this as an angel. Doubts, he had so many, so very many and they _burned_. 

* * *

* * *

Crowley had expected to be treated roughly by the guards on the way to the execution, but they seemed reluctant to lay hands on him. Hell was full of vile, revolting creatures, but that was just normal. Crowley someone managed to be genuinely… disgusting to others. Like he was contaminated and touching him would spread some of that. He’d expected the hatred, but not this. He’d worried about it from Aziraphale, _seeing_ him finally, but from Hell… it hurt more than anticipated. 

They sort of vaguely herded him towards where he was going, trying to avoid touching him while also making sure he couldn’t bolt. Not that he was going to, but he was slightly tempted to, just to see what would happen. Dagon was close behind and she’d already laid hands on him once. If he forced her into grabbing him, she’d make sure he arrived visibly hurt. He rubbed at his wrist slightly, still feeling a slight dent of where her nails had left tiny bruises on him… but not drawn blood. No, forcing Dagon to act seemed like a bad idea. 

Here then was an empty, damp room with a bathtub. There was a viewing window by the tub that let the crowd see in and dulled the sound of them for now. As soon as they caught sight of him though, there were angry yells and growls and hisses and other general noises of disgust and disdain. 

He was prodded to turn to face a throne topped with a ram skull. It was impressive looking, clearly meant to convey the gravity of the situation. Beelzebub was sprawled across it, trying to fully occupy a chair that was just slightly too big for zir corporation. There was a chair set slightly in front of it, to one side. It looked like it really should have had two chairs to look properly balanced, but now there was just the one. Dagon stepped past Crowley to sit in the empty chair, which seemed faintly too small for her. The two guards were left to flank Crowley. 

Beelzebub made a harsh noise at the crowd. “Silence! The prisoner will approach.” 

Crowley did as asked for once and stayed silent. 

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” 

“What am I accused of?” 

“Treason, the murder of a fellow demon, disobeying orders, consorting with the enemy, and whatever else Dagon would like to add as charges.” 

“Doesn’t consorting with the enemy fall under treason?” 

“There was the general treason and then there was…” Beelzebub made a face and a complicated hand gesture. “Whatever you were doing with the angel.” 

“Sharing. I was sharing.” Crowley’s voice was soft but sure. There was a general hiss from the crowd at it, like this was some vile, unspeakable crime. 

“Oh come on, you’ve all done some kind of....” He half turned towards the viewing window. “.... _Sharing_. Otherwise we wouldn’t have any kind of functioning society. It doesn’t function well, but we do _have_ one.” 

“Silence. You are not being charged with _sharing_. Doing Heaven’s will then.” 

“Oh he was definitely _not_ doing Heaven’s will or we’d have had Armageddon..” 

“Fine, conspiracy to commit treason.” 

“I don’t think my _trusted_ accomplice in this conspiracy is under Hell’s jurisdiction, so I can’t have a conspiracy by myself.” 

“I have not received paperwork indicating a transfer.” Dagon cut in briefly. 

“He will be dealt with by his own side. You meanwhile will be tried and then executed.” 

“So you’ve already determined I’m guilty?” 

“It’s Hell. You are guilty by being a demon.” 

“And if I am full of guilt for what I have done?” 

“Are you trying to get charged with more things?” 

“What would you charge me with then? For… for not having liked what I did?” He could hear the fragility in his voice. 

“There is no getting back up once you have Fallen.” 

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel…” 

“Your feelings are irrelevant.” The tone sounded like they were less irrelevant than _unspeakable_. “You are guilty and you will be a warning to others. Dagon, do you have additional charges to add?” 

“Plenty.” There was that too sharp smile again and Dagon stood to start reading off a long list of instances of disobedience. 

The reading of instances took forever with Crowley frequently interrupting to argue about them. Beelzebub often cut him off when he went on too long, but occasionally the crowd interrupted, wanting to hear more of his attempts to justify some disobedience of direct orders. When he simply agreed that he had disobeyed, it tended to draw even louder noises from the crowd as there had to be something behind him agreeing so quickly. 

But none of what he’d just discussed with Dagon was being entered directly. There were some parts where what he’d said had perhaps clarified things for her, but nothing that was being quoted. There were big gaps in the record too. Dagon was being careful about making sure there weren’t so many that it would become obvious she knew something was going on. He could try to turn that against her, but he knew how this trial was supposed to end. He was getting a chance to sow discord of the kind he’d told Aziraphale to do and he appreciated every moment he got to do it. 

They finally got to the most serious charges of treason and murder of a fellow demon. That he agreed so quickly to them both had the crowd angry and howling for an explanation. 

“You just admit to the murder? No defense?” 

“Ligur and Hastur were coming for me. They made it clear they would have done the same to me if they had the means to do so. I don’t know if they could have got their hands on holy water. I did. I used it. I… it's not something I want to see used again.” 

“It will be the last thing you see.” The voice came from behind him and the crowd had grown hushed. “Aren’t you ready yet?” There was a distinct disapproving tone there. 

Crowley turned enough to see what had caused hush and could see the archangel Michael there, holding a pitcher. 

“Now Heaven and Hell are working together? On this?” 

“It’s diplomacy.” Beelzebub leaned forward in zir chair. “You ought to approve of that. Cooperation with our old enemies.” 

“I’d like to object to the treason charge then on the basis of ...this.” He gestured vaguely at Michael. 

“A State sponsored execution is very different than murder.” Dagon was all sharp teeth again. 

“I’m not disputing that. It’s the consorting with the enemy part. Then there’s mitigating circumstances.” 

“Enough of that! There was meant to be a final battle and you cocked it up!” from Beelzebub, who was watching Michael carefully. 

“So what’s meant to be the punishment then?” 

“Extinction by holy water. Let the punishment fit the crime.” 

He was silent for a second. He’d suspected from what Dagon had said and the bathtub, but he’d been convinced he could get out of it. He licked his lips, trying to find the right words to cast doubt on this outcome. 

“So you’re…. letting Heaven do executions? And if Heaven didn’t agree for some reason?” He looked between Dagon and Beelzebub. He could see the flick of Dagon’s eyes towards Beelzebub. Ze shifted in zir chair, watching Michael. 

“That should not be an issue.” From Michael. “It is what the guilty deserve.” 

Beelzebub leaned back into the throne and glared at Michael. “We hadn’t gotten to that part yet. Just establishing the stakes.” Michael made a displeased little tut noise. 

“Creatures of Hell, you have heard the evidence against the demon known as Crowley. What is your verdict?” 

There was a brief tumult of noises and then it resolved into a chant of “guilty, guilty, guilty!” getting firmer as it went. Any disagreement would be punished, so none was voiced. 

“Michael if you would do the…. _Honors_.” This was not a place where honor had meaning and yet there was also the sense that this was too much even for Hell. 

Michael smiled and went to pour water in the bathtub and the crowd alternated between howls and gasps. 

“Is there anything else you wish to say?” 

“It’s… it’s not gonna be nice. Or bad. Or I don’t know what words to describe it anymore. I wish I’d never seen it. I don’t recommend watching. Or listening. You’ll never forget the smell. I’m… I’m going to strip so it goes faster.” 

“You’re meant to suffer.” from Michael. 

“I know. Doesn’t mean anybody else has to.” Crowley’s voice was barely audible over crowd noises. Crowley stripped off his coat and started untucking his shirt. 

“You’re going to allow this?” Michael was looking disapprovingly at Beelzebub. 

“Are you staying to watch?” 

“No.” Michael sounded like it was a stupid question. 

“Maybe I’m letting him strip so I can cut off his limbs and drop them in one by one and watch them dissolve. You’ll never know.” 

“Barbaric.” 

“We’re _demons_.” 

“I will be back to collect this in an hour, when it's all over.” 

“Dagon, test that. I don’t trust Michael.” 

Michel sniffed and turned to leave, shoes neatly clicking down the hallway. Crowley had meanwhile stepped out of his boots and was in the process of shimmying out of his jeans. Dagon wound a finger through her hair and pulled a few strands out as she stepped past him. There was a sizzle noise and an all too familiar _smell_. The crowd reacted with gasps and cries and some low moans. 

Crowley had stripped down to the singlet and socks. He was trembling. He wanted it to be as fast and painless as possible but couldn’t stand the thought of others staring at the marks he’d gotten from Aziraphale. Those were _his_. He’d promised not to sacrifice himself for Aziraphale. He’d _promised_. He could feel that compulsion on his tongue, trying to hold him here. But this wasn’t for Aziraphale. This was for him. He couldn’t take the anxiety, the endless waiting for destruction. That wasn’t enduring, that was just adding suffering before the eventual extinction. The end was inevitable; it was just a question of how horrible it would be. He could try and face it now while he could still think, still feel something other than terror, and try and somehow redirect that terrible power away from him. But the longer he waited, the more time he had to imagine what was coming, the more horrible it would become, and the less chance of success. 

The guards came to flank him and take his arms and walk him to the bathtub. It smelled like _nothing_. He could see it. But there was just _nothing_. No potential. Just _nothingness_. It couldn’t hurt him. It very much could. He knew it could. That was the problem. He knew in intimate detail what it could do. He couldn’t do this. He should run. But his instinct was to freeze. To do nothing. To be nothing. To curl up and hide and maybe he would be left alone. He didn’t want to be _alone_. 

He fumbled to take off his sunglasses as everything was getting blurry. He sniffed and rubbed his right hand over his eyes and bridge of his nose, smearing tears up over his forehead. This brought some loud jeers from the crowd at seeing his cry but there was also a low ongoing moan from onlookers, impossible to pinpoint anyone as source. He put his hand over the handprint on his chest, trying to recall the memory of Aziraphale’s hand holding him from the inside. He reached over each shoulder in turn, dragging his fingers along the wing mark there, closing his eyes and inhaling, recalling that scent of holiness on Aziraphale, but there and active and _real._ He’d shared himself with an angel, touched him and loved and had come away changed but alive. That holiness had lived in him. Had protected him. Had seen a future with him. He wanted that. He needed to see that. Believe that. 

He worried the sunglasses between his hands, staring at the water trying to see something, anything there other than that _nothing_. It smelled like rain. It would have to do. 

He held out his sunglasses towards Dagon to take, who carefully folded them back up to put with his clothes back by the throne. The crowd had settled into an uneasy silence. 

“Make it fast. _Please_.” There were a few hisses from the crowd at that. 

“The sentence of demon Crowley will be carried out now, extinction by holy water.” 

He was yanked suddenly backwards to knock him off his feet and then heaved forward. He flailed wildly and his hands gripped the edge of the tub before it registered he was touching something. He screamed. 

* * *

* * *

Had he done the right thing in rejecting the sword’s return to his hand? His angel mark was gone, so clearly tied to that sword. He was marked an entirely different way now. He was changed and barely understood any of it. He could feel all those questions trying to burn away as they were new and half formed. He freely let those go, revealing older ones beneath. 

Had he done the wrong thing or the right thing so long ago with giving away his sword? That it had come back at the end in War’s hand, he had likely done some evil there. Adam and Eve had used it to kill. They’d made War as well. He had no love for her. Or for many other things they choose to make. He didn’t love those. But they had also used it to cook, to keep warm, to provide light in the darkness, and eventually to carve a long furrow in the earth to drop seeds into and grow a new garden. He did love that. 

But how was he supposed to choose what was worthy of love? Even with all his time and power, he could not actively love everything and everyone in the world equally. And that was just it. It was an action, not a thing. He’d spent his time and love on earth, on the people in it. On the world and all its imperfections and unknowns. He’d chosen without considering whether they were _worthy_ of love. 

He could feel those painful questions leaving him and the roar of the hellfire drowning out all thought. There was a certain beauty to it to let it all burn away, take every doubt and uncertainty with it. Let it be consumed entirely and take all the pain that those doubts had caused. But there were lessons that had come from those doubts and there was a fine line between forgetting the lessons you’d learned from that which hurt you and clinging to the doubts as the only certainty you had. To let that pain live in you as an old and trusted friend. 

The darkness of the top of his wings was now a void through which the hellfire roared out like the chimney of a blast furnace. He could feel the terrible heat of it in his insides, burning and devouring those doubts. But he could release some of them, the impurities in them, the irrelevant portions. Like ore being melted down to be reforged into something new. If it ran hot enough, long enough, yes, it would burn away everything and there would be nothing at all left to make something of. 

He felt the burning deep in his chest and neck as if he was being consumed, spreading in a specific shape, the great curling serpent now marked on him, a reminder of his oldest, dearest love and greatest uncertainty. Questions had built up into layers of certainty, a cage of unknowns that held him fast. Some of them had come from outside him, some had come from inside. But the ones that were not _his_ , he let go. He had no more need for them. If he needed them, he could ask them again as he learned and changed and _grew_. 

Some certainties he could not let go. They were part of _him_. He’d chosen Crowley, no, _Anthony._ They had looked at each other and then looked to the future and chosen ….something. What that something would contain was a mystery. An endless open future of questions with only one thing certain, that it would _exist_. That it was better to have a world that could grow and change and surprise them than an endless, frozen certainty. 

He had no more he could let burn away and he had to find out now if that had been enough. He stepped forward and out of the Hellfire. His clothes were gone and he could feel the continued heat across his chest and wings and hear a faint pattering noise like rain running off him. He rolled his shoulders and spread his wings. He heard droplets of something flung hissing aside to hit the floor and leave smoking holes. Everything around him seemed to waver slightly. 

“I said **No**.” He could feel that echo of power again. That bit of the Word coming through in his voice indicating he did not speak alone. 

The archangels had backed off to a safe distance while he was in Hellfire to watch his obliteration and now were realizing there WAS no safe distance. 

“What IS he?” from Sandolphon who was distinctly hiding behind Gabriel. Gabriel looked utterly bewildered, like none of this could be happening. Uriel looked openly hostile but was unwilling to act without backup. 

“Aziraphale. Just as I am.” The pattering noises was slowing to a faint drip noise and there were metallic ping and tick noises to it now as well. There was a smell of burning dust in the air. The wavering was subsiding a little as he cooled off, but he still radiated enough heat to distort the air. 

“The demon must have done it.” Uriel sounded sure. 

“He did nothing but love me.” 

“We _saw_.” There was that distinct edge of disgust. 

“You may have seen but you didn’t understand anymore than you’ve ever understood me. Now, I am leaving to do my duty and I expect not to be disturbed by any more of your… _frivolous_ ” as he glared directly at Gabriel “requests.” 

“They’re not requests!” 

“When I can turn them down, they’re requests. And I am telling you, **No**.” Aziraphale started to walk away. 

“You can’t just leave!” 

“I can and I shall.” 

“There’s nowhere you can hide!” from Gabriel. He seemed on more solid footing with threats. 

He turned back to them and swept his hand downward. “I am hiding nothing, especially not myself.” 

That said, clothes might be in order… at least once he got out of Heaven. Everyone else could deal with _seeing_ him _._

* * *

* * *

He really hadn’t expected it to be so _cold_. That Aziraphale had given it to him in a thermos should have been a hint, but it's not as if he had tested it. Now, now it felt like his body was trying to rip itself apart as his inner self froze and stilled and expanded, forcing itself out of his corporation and into direct contact with the holy water. This vessel was too small to hold him, too tiny, too frail, cracking around him. All he had to do was let go and it would all just _stop_ if he just stopped fighting. Just accepted. Let it all go. But that was not what he’d set out to do. He accepted the administration of _a_ punishment, but not destruction. He was meant to learn something from punishment, but so far all he was learning was just how much it _hurt_. 

It was agony, unmoored from time, without any end in sight. But there had been a beginning to it. And with that he could feel that pull of connection to this frail corporation that had somehow housed both him and an angel through the end of the world. It was his connection and shield against that total absence and stillness. Pain let him know he was still here. Teeth clenched and felt like they would shatter as the whole body pulled itself to the point of breaking. All he had to do was let everything spill out and be still. No more suffering. The pain would stop. He wouldn’t have to endure anything else ever again. 

He bit through a portion of it his tongue. The metallic, salty taste was a reminder that there were sensations other than raw pain. He just has to endure. That was what he’d said. That promise had been on his tongue with the wine soaked fruit he’d shared with Aziraphale. He tasted peaches. Endure. 

He flailed an arm around, not quite controlled but it had done _something_ other than lock entirely into a position of screaming agony. Then all his limbs were flailing uncontrollably and there were tiny flares of additional pain, duller and more diffuse that somehow blocked out some of the sharper all encompassing pain. His elbows and knees connected with the edge of the tub, as if he would beat himself against the sides and crack open his vessel this way, spill his contents all over and the pain would stop. There was a harsh crack of his knuckles against the side, sending pain through bones, making him aware of limbs _as_ limbs and not just more pain. He could just get rid of them, lose them and the punishment would stop and he would have to endure no more. Split his skin like the snake he was, let his form spill out of this frail little pile of meat and it would all stop. Just let go and it would all be over. 

But he was aware of his hands. The hands that had been held and touched and used by someone else who had asked him to endure and he would _keep_ them, pain and all. All he had to do was endure and he would feel those soft hands wrapped around his own again. There would be something in the future other than this pain. His hands clenched around that feeling of warmth as if he could pull himself up on those remembered hands. 

It was so cold and he was shaking and couldn’t make his limbs do anything he wanted. His teeth were chattering and his lungs heaved and forced air through him. His breathing grew faster and faster to take in the warmer air around him and push that cold out of his core. Gulping that down overwhelmed him with the stink of blood and fear and the smell of rapid moving water. Now he could hear the roar of blood in his ears like a river in full flood and he was howling some kind of sound to go along with it. He felt like he was trying to shake himself apart but the cold was receding, falling away beneath him and he felt distinctly wet and cold and they were recognizable as sensations apart from pain again. 

And suddenly there was a feeling of being grabbed and pulled by something warm and it burned to be touched so and he was aware he was shivering and wet and distinctly not-dead but couldn’t make any sense of the cacophony of sound around him. There was a sudden sharpness against his skin and he could feel something break and fall away and he managed a strangled “No!” Something was pressed to him and it might have been soft but felt like agony on him as it was being roughly pressed over him. He tried to flail at it but had no control over his limbs as they were shaking so hard. 

Everything went dark and there was roughness of something being forced over and around him but the cold was receding and he could feel some vague control over his body returning as he acknowledged the existence of a body that was no longer in agony. Other sensations were returning and forcing that pain away. He still felt wet but it was now a hot-wet and there was a metallic smell of ozone and iron and he was definitely bleeding. The roar in his ears was receding and he could make out voices now. There is a cacophony of sound of many voices speaking over each other punctuated with shrieks and cries and weeping and two stronger voices in disagreement with each other and the background noise as well. 

Whatever was touching him was flung away and everything was suddenly very bright again and there was a wild blur of figures near him. There was a bright flash of blue against the washed out background. Something was wrapped around him and his face was about to be covered again but he managed to feebly move his arm to stop that at least. He could start to try and focus on what was happening. His arm was grabbed and there was a press of oddly slick fingers into flesh and he yelped and tried to pull away ineffectively as he had no strength in him. 

The hand was not letting go of him but he was no longer being battered with whatever had been around him and there was just a sense of pressure and uneven weight of it on him. It shielded the slick wetness on his skin from the draft here. Every little bit of air passing over him left his skin feeling aching and tight, but it made him aware of still having skin. 

He could finally focus his eyes and there was Beelzebub in front of him, looking infinitely tired and at the end of zir ability to deal with any of this anymore. The usual cloud of buzzing flies had settled on zir skin, cold and torpid and still. 

“How did you do this?” 

He made an incoherent noise at that. He didn’t know. 

“Speak up!” 

He wasn’t sure he could speak at all. 

“Answer me, Crowley!” 

“Anthony.” 

“Who’s that?” 

“It’s _me_.” It had been part of his name for a century now, but Hell had never used it. It was important now that they did. Of this he was certain. 

“Crowley” He shook his head at that and would have fallen over except for the hand holding his arm aloft. “How did you get your markings back?” He realized suddenly he was naked except for the threadbare towel draped around his shoulders. The marks across his feet were clearly visible as was the handprint on him. 

“Not back. New.” 

“The angel did that to you?” 

“Not _to_. For. With. Together.” 

There was an angry buzz at that and Beelzebub had a hand on his face suddenly, trying to look directly in his eyes. He fought to pull away but was too weak to do so. 

“What did you do for him?” 

“Loved him.” 

“You’re a demon.” 

“I’m _me_. He loves me. I love him. He loves ME.” 

“Angels love _everything_.” 

“They don’t.” He pulled himself together to meet zir gaze dead on. “ _You_ don’t.” 

Beelzebub pulled away as if burned. Then straightened zir sash as if nothing happened. 

“We’ll find some other method to be rid of you.” 

There was a hiss from behind him and he looked up at the bright blue gloved hand wrapped around his wrist. This time she hadn’t dug her nails in. 

“He was executed.” Dagon was all teeth and intensity. 

“He’s very much alive.” Beelzebub gestured at him with a hand. 

“Crowley is gone.” 

“He’s right there! You’re holding him up!” 

“Crowley is _gone.”_

Beelzebub threw up her hands and drew zir brows together while making a face. She didn’t have words for this kind of stubborn denial of reality. Dagon held up a single gloved finger at her and then reached into her pockets and produced the form he’d signed earlier. She unfolded it and shoved it in front of his face. 

“Is this your signature?” he looked at the form for a moment, staring at the signature. 

“Maybe?” It was familiar, it should be his name. He remembered the form. 

“Is this your _name_?” 

“No.” The faint wrongness from earlier was now overwhelming. 

“ _Was_ this your name?” 

“Yes” 

“ _Is_ this name now?” 

“ **No**.” He could hear the uneasy murmur of onlookers reacting to the obvious power behind that simple statement. 

“Crowley signed that so when he was gone, the angel got whatever remained. Anthony’s what remains.” Dagon pointed at him. 

“That’s not how this works!” It seemed more a reflexive denial than anything. 

Dagon made a sweeping gesture around them at all of hell and its demons. “It’s exactly how it works! We built this whole place on that’s how it works!” 

Beelzebub looked like they’d been struck and the crowd grew silent as that sunk in. There was what sounded like a sob from somewhere in the roil of demons. 

“We did. If you _care_ so much, you figure out what to do with him.” 

“ _I will_.” 

“The rest of you! Go do… something. I don’t care.” Beelzebub collapsed back into the too big throne. The crowd noises resumed, though now muted and with a thread of unease there as demons slid off to go do….something. 

Dagon looked down at a bewildered Anthony. “Can you stand?” 

“Maybe, if you help me up. Why… why did..?” 

“Master of torments. No more of that if you’re gone.” 

Anthony laughed at that and then coughed and tried to curl in around himself. He felt wetter again. 

“Lay down. I’ll be back” 

Dagon let up the pressure on his arm so he could lay prone and try and get himself back in a corporation that… wasn’t all that bad considering. He was definitely leaking, some weird form of occult or maybe ethereal bleeding weeping through flesh in spots where he simply wasn’t holding together. He was unsure if his occult form actually had a form right now. If he didn’t have a body to hold it together, a NAME to hold it together, he would have vanished the way a raindrop does in the desert sand. 

Dagon meanwhile went over to Beelzebub. Ze gave her a tired glare. 

“I’m mad at you.” 

“You’re mad at everyone.” 

“I hate you specifically. You and your _forms_.” 

“Did you want your copy back?” 

“You just carry them all around?” 

“Only the ones I need.” 

There was a vague buzz. “Take your _forms_ and him and get out of my sight until I no longer hate you.” 

“You always hate me.” 

“GO.” 

Dagon came back and Anthony stared up at her again. “Where are you going to take me?” 

“Where do you want to go?” 

“Home, I want to go home.” 

“You need to fill out a change of name and address form” 

“I don’t quite hate you, but you _are_ a real clever _bastard_.” 

“I merely tolerate your existence.” 

“Thanks.” 

* * *

* * *

He wasn’t entirely sure how much time had passed in Heaven other than it was the same day. Once outside, and having miracled a near duplicate of what he’d been wearing, he checked the angle of the sun. It lined up relatively well with his own internal perception of the passage of time, though visiting Heaven did always seem to throw that off a bit. Not that long. Crowley had seemed like he might be quite a bit longer. And yet, if he’d also concluded quickly, he might be back already by now and fretting over where Aziraphale was. Not a time to dawdle. At worst he’d end up sitting and waiting for him longer. That was what he had to focus on. That the worst was a long wait. 

He did take the precaution of making a bit of a longer loop around to try and throw anyone trying to trail him from the front entrance. It was an old habit, reassuring in its way, to take that precaution. Heaven could of course find him if they really wanted, but they likely didn’t want to until they once more had consensus. Right now they were probably too busy trying to assign blame for what had happened. A quick turn into an alley that looked like it dead ended but was actually a dogleg and he felt safe to head straight to Mayfair to wait at the flat. If he maybe bent reality a little so his walk was shorter, well, never could tell exactly where these alleys let out sometimes... 

He’d had fleeting thought of going to the bookshop as being where Crowley almost always found him, but he’d very purposely left his coat at the flat to indicate he would return. He hadn’t quite expected it would be like THIS, but it’s where Anthony would expect to find him. 

The door let him in easily enough and he rattled around in the great open space poking about and purposely making a bit of a racket just in case he had beat him back. He checked the bedroom just in case he’d collapsed on the bed to wait by his coat. No demon. Yet. It had to be yet. 

His liquor was easy to find and he stared at the collection of bottles. It was a small but carefully curated selection. There were several excellent wines suitable for different occasions: dinner, an afternoon of drinking, even a festive spiced one. There were several bottles of aged scotch from different distilleries. It definitely seemed more like a hard liquor kind of day. Surely there were the right glasses somewhere. 

Everything was extremely neatly organized, just following logic that didn’t quite line up with Aziraphale’s more chaotic cataloging system. Finding the right glasses provided a bit of distraction. If he just let himself drift after his first guess proved wrong, he did vaguely know where they were. Crowley owned exactly two of the right sort. He seemed to own two of all the glassware. No more than that, no less. 

He did, however, own a plethora of weirdly shaped pottery mugs in an assortment of colors. One particularly misshapen one was repurposed by the front door as a keyholder. The sentimental old snake had kept even Warlock’s most inexperly made ones that didn’t hold water. He figured out which one clearly actually got used the most from the faint wear on edges and got that set out in the kitchen. He looked at the less loved ones and found one to use himself. He set both out and worked on finding the teapot and tea. At worst he had it all by himself before the demon returned. That was the worst case scenario. 

He would turn up eventually. He probably shouldn’t try and rescue him. Probably. He needed to have the respect of Hell to get any kind of peace and him showing up to save him could put him in greater danger. He wouldn’t try and retrieve him unless it seemed like he needed rescuing. He’d wait a reasonable amount of time. He didn’t feel reasonable today though... 

He wasn’t sure what to make of Dagon exactly, but she hadn’t seemed sure what to make of him either, so they were even. That seemed to be rather how demons operated, so perhaps if things seemed to be taking too long he could make a polite inquiry? No, probably a rude inquiry would be more appropriate. Hmmm. What was the etiquette for inquiring “do you have my demon and would you kindly give him back?” Probably not kindly. _Definitely_ not kindly. 

Tea was made and he needed to figure out what to do with himself next. He’d gotten the tour with Crowley sliding them around the flat in socks. He smiled gently at that. He could remember the feel of the little bounce as Crowley had stopped in front of each thing he’d wanted to show off, exhausted but unable to contain his enthusiasm for finally getting to show off his keepsakes and _know_ Aziraphale liked them. And him. He couldn’t wait to see him do that from the outside. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel he needed to put on a show to look cool. He did have a bit of a dramatic streak, so he likely still would anyway. But here, in the flat alone, there was a different side on display. 

It was quiet. Very quiet. There were no intruding outside noises. The polished concrete walls and floor picked up the sounds of him moving around and magnified them so there was a sense he should move softly, carefully, or have a riot of sound around him. It reminded him of heaven faintly in its openness, but it was also close enough that when it was occupied, it sounded so. Now if only there was someone else here with him… He’d be back soon. 

The blinds were down at the moment and Aziraphale took a little while figuring out how to open them. They were some sort of fancy in-window thing. It kept them very clean and tidy that way. 

Now that the sun was coming in, the flat looked just as clean and tidy. None of the dust floating in the air he had at the shop constantly. It wasn’t unpleasant, just different. He could feel the warmth of light and realized with the dark colored concrete it probably held the warmth for a while after sunset. 

The plants looked nice, they provided a colorful contrast to the dark stone. There was a slight rustle to them that seemed a bit odd as he didn’t feel a draft. Though without dust to tell there was a breeze, he might just not have noticed. 

He checked those over and admired them. He’d picked up on Crowley’s pride in them along with his mix of devotion and aggravation. Seemed a silly thing to do to yell at them, but they did look very lush and green… yet he’d called on Aziraphale’s power to fix the hedge at the cottage, feeling like he had a more natural connection to the earth and growing things than he did. He’d have let Crowley be the gardener and he be the nanny if he’d known how much care he put into his plants. Though it had clearly worked out well as he checked out the little pots of cuttings being rooted in even more slightly off kilter pottery. 

Was this a sheep on the outside of this pot? Or a goat? It had horns. Well, Warlock had made it, so likely a goat. Oh no, those weren’t horns, those were ears! Oh this was a _donkey_! Well, it had been a charming effort by him anyway. He hoped Warlock was alright. 

Crowley had very much enjoyed being the nanny and trying to nudge young Warlock to a bit of chaos. The original idea of taking him to a pottery class had probably been that he’d smash the failures but here was a rather weird donkey and several asymmetrical pots with hideous glazing that said the bad results were cherished results anyway. They still had a home here. _Home_. 

Azirahale had drunk all his tea and he went back to the kitchen for another cup while waiting. At worst he had to make another pot. That was the worst outcome. 

He didn’t want to get into the scotch before Anthony got back as that would likely not go so well as tea. Tea was a more cheery option. He realized his hands were shaking as the quiet interlude was letting everything catch up with him now. Maybe a little scotch in the tea, to settle his nerves a bit. That was fine. If he got through the whole pot before Anthony got back, not so bad. Much better than getting through the whole bottle. 

He went to go pad around the rest of the flat and admire the other items Crowley had shown him during the sliding around. Here was a cartoon from a favorite artist that he’d been quite fond of. Here was that eagle lectern from the church and oh, that certainly did bring back memories. He’d survived prancing around an exploding church, the complete heroic idiot, but he’d come back. He’ll be back. It will be _fine_. 

Aziaphale didn’t remember him showing him this sculpture with the two angels wrestling. Probably for a reason. Though there was something about the way the one held the other’s wings that seemed a bit familiar. Perhaps Crowley had gotten the idea from it. 

Aziraphale stared at it for a moment seeing if he could pick up some memory of where and why Crowley had chosen this particular statue to buy and display. He’d shared so many memories this might be in there somewhere. Why this? 

He could pick up on some vague unconnected fragments of Crowley having stood in front of it in the flat, admiring it, he’d had it somewhere else for a while before deciding to change the order. He could pick up a memory of Crowley rearranging things to create a path from the front door, the way he’d wanted to show it to him but had ended up showing it to him all out of order. He hadn’t expected to start in the office! 

Aziraiphale went to the front door and stepped outside to see it as Crowley had intended it to be presented, including the ridiculous snake doorbell.He picked up that the bell wasn’t for him specifically, that was for others. Stay away. Someone dangerous and bad and a little spooky lives here… with his plants. Nobody needed to know about _those_. He stepped back in and looked at the elegant little table by the door that was clearly more practical than display as there was the mug he’d remembered from earlier with some odds and ends thrown in it. There were a bunch of coins, a shiny rock, a wrapped horehound candy, and quite a few seeds it looked like. Some receipts were neatly flattened under it along with a coupon. Crowley apparently emptied his pockets when he got home, though how he got things in them in the first place... There was also a pen and a pad of post-its and under the table a pair of what looked like… were those _Crocs_? Clearly something to throw on is he needed to step outside for a moment and get his mail but he wasn’t going outside because _good lord_. 

He started wending his way back through the flat, stopping at each of the pieces in turn. The angels wrestling was quite late in the process. He was fairly certain they weren’t wrestling. He paused and reached over his shoulder wanting to stroke the dark mark on his back where he knew Crowley’s wings had sat. He might feel him doing so even at this distance. He probably shouldn’t. He might distract him from whatever he was doing. And yet, they’d established earlier they had to be LET in, to feel that connection. If he needed to feel it, he would let him in. If not, he would be closed up tight, keeping everyone firmly outside himself. 

Aziraphale put the mug of tea down on the floor to free up both hands. He put one arm over his shoulder and wrapped the other around his chest so his fingers could just reach each mark. He gripped himself tight for a moment, stroking his fingers along the line of the marks. They felt strangely cold. If Anthony needed it and was ready to receive it, he would feel that embrace, holding him tight. Aziraphale unwrapped his arms and looked down at his hands, clasped them together as if he was holding someone else’s. Soon. He’d be back soon. His hands were shaking again. Why was he so cold? 

Soon. He’d waited so long. They’d both waited so long and now, it had only been a few hours. How could it be so long? It wasn’t long. He’d be back soon. Time to finish the tour. 

But as he came into the office and saw the great sigil they’d left on the floor as a just-in-case, he could feel those memories from Crowley’s confrontation with Ligur rising up. What if, what if that was what Hell was doing? 

That couldn’t be the end of it all. He was clever. He was so good with questions, always wiggling his way into trouble and right back out again. _Wily old serpent._ He’d said he’d accept some punishment but he wouldn’t sacrifice himself. He’d come back injured, but he’d be back. He should have more scotch. 

He should _not_ have more scotch, that was for when Anthony was back. _He’d promised_. And he could have faith in that at least. 

He was going to have to just wait and trust he’d be back. The stop in the office had thrown him off the groove on tour and he wanted to go back to plants. No, he’d lay stuff out for Anthony to get settled in bed when he got home. He’d be tired from all this. That wasn’t too forward. He’d worn his body yesterday, so turning down the bed couldn’t be too forward. It gave him something to do. To welcome his love home. He suspected the demon probably owned a hot water bottle. Wait, he’d confirmed he’d stolen the electric blanket again. It had to be around here somewhere. He said he lay on the floor with it sometimes. 

Even if it was high summer and warm out, if Aziraphale was cold here in flat, clearly Crowley would be. So the blanket should be there to wrap him up in when he got home, wherever it got to. Probably somewhere he could lay on the floor. He’d said the heat was off but the floor might be warm from the sun too. 

Aziraphale went into the plant room where the sun was much further towards the horizon now. He put a hand to the floor to see how warm it was and yes, in the direct sun it did hold the heat. He lay down on the floor amidst the plants hoping to spot the blanket tucked under something. He stared up at the ceiling. Were those footprints on the ceiling? He hadn't really considered that. Hmm, with the high ceilings and walls like this, well yes, a restless demon could literally climb the walls. How many times had he done that? And how tempting was that to do right now? He probably could as well. What did the flat look like upside down? If those were footprints Crowley surely had considered what it looked like that way. He pictured the demon sliding down the walls in his ridiculous socks and could feel it latch onto a memory of him doing exactly that. He could feel himself, no not himself, sliding along the slanted line of the ceiling and then hopping off, letting gravity realign itself then, so he obeyed the pull of the earth and not… _oh Crowley_. He was swept away by the fractured memory of how he did that. Just reorienting his relationship to distant stars he’d made. To let them pull upon him even at such a distance. He was going to end up crying on the floor at this rate and that just wouldn’t do. 

Time to have the last of the tea and make a new pot to have one handy for when Anthony got home. He’d be back before sunset surely. The sun set fairly late right now. There was plenty of time. 

He went to the kitchen and poured the last of the tea and rinsed the pot to start an entirely new one. Sniffed through the neatly labeled teas to find one that sparked a memory that wasn’t his as it being a particular favorite. He’d make that one next. He would just miracle it to stay warm and perfect for whenever Anthony arrived. It will be _fine_. His hands were shaking again. He wrapped his hands around the warmth of the pot to steady him in the here and now. 

The sun was lower in the plant room again and Aziraphale was staring out at the sun slowly going towards the horizon and mentally composing an inquiry regarding Anthony’s whereabouts. There was probably a form about that. Request for where he was assigned? Then if he was just detained that would surely be listed as an assignment? Or possibly dismissal? He knew how Heaven’s bureaucracy worked. He only knew enough of Hell’s to file reports that had already been set up for him. Crowley had always been very careful to set up all the material for him, make sure he had all the right forms. Very meticulous. 

There was the sudden sound of the phone ringing in the office. He hurried towards that rotating stone door and then backed up out of sight again. It _could_ be Anthony. But it could also be any number of other vengeful demons, ready to ransack the place. He could be still for a moment, no matter how much he wanted to just rush in to pick up the phone. He could hear the ansaphone message playing. 

“Can you stand up?” The voice sounded familiar. 

“Nope. Just drop me in the throne. Good enough.” 

“Anthony!” Caution be damned. 

“Angel! You’re here!?!” There was loud scrabbly noise and a muffled “You blessed idiot, SIT.” 

“Yes! What do you mean you can’t stand up!?” 

And there was Anthony trying to get back out of the chair and having his feet go back out from under him so he was dangling off Dagon like a cat trying to climb out of a bath. 

“Either come take this idiot or make him sit.” 

“Oh, thank you. I’ll take him. He’s awful with chairs.” 

“I heard that. But s’true.” Anthony got his feet under him and detached his arm to reach towards Aziraphale as he rushed over. Aziraphale took his hand and kissed his knuckles before ducking around to get his arm around him. Dagon seemed unconcerned about briefly being sandwiched between them while weight was transferred from her to Aziraphale. 

“You need to sign for him.” 

“Like he’s a _package_?” 

“He’s your package then.” 

“She’s got a form!” Anthony was busy trying to kiss him so ended up basically shouting in his ear. 

“Indoor voice, dear.” He looked at Dagon suspiciously. “What _kind_ of form?” Dagon looked far too pleased by all this, there had to be a catch. The form in question was being held in front of his face. 

“Sign it saying I got delivered and I’m _yours_.” 

“Is this a marriage license?” 

“Um, what… wait, IS IT?” Anthony turned too quickly to look at Dagon and feet went out from under him again. 

“I’m not carrying that on me” 

“I can get one of those!?” 

“You don’t need one, you idiot. You don’t have to file paperwork with me. He needs to indicate your assets were transferred to him, which means _you_.” 

“I have no idea what’s going on.” 

“You’re my Next of Sin!” 

“Your WHAT.” 

“If Crowley was destroyed, you get his assets.” 

“He’s right here!” 

“I’m Anthony! I really _am_!” 

Aziraphale had to take a moment there to totally reorient himself as Dagon grinned at him with entirely too many teeth. The silence apparently made Anthony think the worst and he tried to disentangle himself from him. 

“I thought you’d be happy…” 

“I am _so_ confused but what’s happening, just give me a moment, dearest.” 

“Am I still?” His voice sounded like he expected to be told no. 

“You’ve _been_ Anthony, so yes, you are.” He pulled him a little closer so he could press a kiss to cheek. “I’m just a little perplexed.” 

“I wasn’t to Hell. Half the time I still got called Crawly” There was a distinct noise of displeasure there. 

“So you just… changed your name.” 

“My **Name**.” 

“How?” 

“Eh…” 

“He may have gotten baptized.” 

“YOU DID WHAT?” Aziraphale couldn’t decide which of them he should yell at. Both. Both of them. 

“Do you want to sign for your idiot and you can yell at each other in private?” 

“I very much do.” 

Aziraphale very carefully read the form front and back as Dagon held it up. Anthony slowly slid down him as feet were going out from under him again. He gave up and hoisted him into bridal carry and after a very brief look at Dagon, Anthony relaxed into position. 

“I don’t quite understand how this works, if you could perhaps explain slightly, it might speed up the process.” 

“Proper distribution of assets. That’s Crowley’s corporation. Whether you want to kick Anthony out of it is up to you.” 

“Hmmm, I think I might be willing to share.” 

“You better.” 

“Does Hell continue to have a claim on this corporation after it's been dispersed to me?” 

“Right now? Probably not. Should you meet a similar demise, potentially we get it back. Really no precedent on that as really the first time we’re dispersing assets this way and you not being under Hell’s jurisdiction does complicate the issue.” Ah there was the catch. 

“And if we established clearly who I gave that to if I was destroyed? I believe you might have a form for that?” 

“I just might.” The sheer glee on Dagon’s face was a thing to behold. 

“Would you like some tea? Perhaps some scotch?” 

“Are you trying to _bribe_ me?” 

“Of course. It would be rude _not_ to.” 

“What were you having?” 

“Whatever you’re _not_ having. There’s only one demon I share a cup with.” 

“What _have_ you been telling him?” Dagon looked back at Anthony being held in Aziraphale’s arms. 

“That I’m his.” 

“You _idiot_.” 

“ _My_ idiot.” 

“Scotch, I’m taking the scotch for putting up with this.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Liquid_Lyrium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium) for the Next of Sin form which came up in a discussion on discord!  
> I have severely abused it here. Rules lawyer that shit to Hell and back to earth again.
> 
> [Under_a-Linden_tree](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010165) did a great little fic mentioning Crowley pacing on the ceiling and I had to expand on that a little here. 
> 
>  
> 
> Epilogue is 99% written, just needs editting.

**Author's Note:**

> If you happened to see any other fics that went for this body sharing option, please recommend them to me!


End file.
